


A Man Could Sing It

by MarianneGreenleaf



Series: Building a History Together: Marriage and Children [17]
Category: Music Man - All Media Types, The Music Man (1962), The Music Man - All Media Types, The Music Man - Willson
Genre: At the footbridge, Charming Victorian, Confessions, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Courtship, Earn Your Happy Ending, F/M, Fluffy Ending, Full Moon, Harold's insomnia, Intimacy, Light Angst, Livery Stable, Marian's girlhood bedroom, Morning Cuddles, Neck Kissing, Parlor passion, Passion vs Propriety, Pillow Talk, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sometimes staying legitimate is hard, Spooning, Trading Innuendos, Wooing on the Paroo front porch, babies ever after, smexytimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-05
Updated: 2012-10-05
Packaged: 2017-11-15 17:27:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarianneGreenleaf/pseuds/MarianneGreenleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that Marian's girlhood bedroom has finally been turned into proper guest quarters, Harold has no qualms about seducing his wife there. But as ever, the former conman ends up getting more than he bargained for when he puts his plan into action...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Curtains and Canoodling

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a continuation of sorts to “The Waking of Briar-Rose.”

_Now in the moonlight, a man could sing it_  
 _In the moonlight_  
 _And a fellow would know that his darling_  
 _Had heard ev’ry word of his song_  
 _With the moonlight helping along…_

_~Meredith Willson_

XXX

When his wife informed him one cool but sunny autumn afternoon in 1914 that her mother was finally planning to transform the librarian’s old girlhood bedroom into proper guest quarters, Harold Hill had responded with a skeptical chuckle.

“But darling, your mother’s been saying that since the day we got married. And that was a good two years ago last week!”

Marian shook her head in vehement disagreement. “That’s what I thought at first, but Mama’s serious this time. We’ve actually made solid plans to go shopping for a new bed next Tuesday!”

At the phrase “new bed,” Harold’s interest – which had been steadily waning from the beginning of the conversation, as there were some subjects even his wife’s kissable crimson lips couldn’t make fascinating – perked up again. “Is that so, my dear little librarian?” he asked slyly. “I don’t suppose our recent, impromptu nap in your former digs had anything to do with influencing your mother’s newfound urgency to redecorate?”

Marian’s cheeks crimsoned slightly at his words – but for an entirely different reason, as it turned out. “You and your horrible slang!” she admonished.

“What – _digs_?” Harold questioned, genuinely confused for once. Of all the things about his statement that she could have taken issue with, grammar was the last thing he’d expected.

“ _Bedroom_ ,” Marian corrected, primly and firmly.

Although the librarian had always been a stickler for proper syntax, she normally kept her pedantic predispositions confined to parsing the rough speech of River City’s youth – especially Amaryllis, who still could not seem to prevent from prefacing her requests with the ruder phrase “can I” instead of the more refined “may I.” However, since the twins had reached toddlerhood and begun to babble and coo their way toward mastery of basic speech, Marian had taken to policing her husband’s utterances, as well.

But as their darling daughters were not currently in earshot – Marian’s mother had exercised grandmotherly privilege and commandeered the children for the afternoon – Harold simply shrugged and winked at his wife. “Whatever you say, my dear.”

“Harold,” she began in a warning tone of voice.

Before the librarian could launch into her usual lecture about setting a proper example for the benefit of their impressionable children, the music professor pulled her close, dropped a kiss on her neck and started unbuttoning her blouse.

“What are you doing?” Marian demanded to know – although she did not attempt to stop her husband. After all, they were alone in the house and Mrs. Paroo wasn’t due to return with Penny and Elly until suppertime. Therefore, it was practically inevitable the two of them would end up heading in an amorous direction at some point.

“Why, I’m undressing you, of course,” Harold said unabashedly. “I’ve noticed, Madam Librarian, that you never see fit to correct my grammar when we’re engaged in certain activities that require the removal of clothes – no matter what kind of words tumble out of my mouth in the process.”

Her eyes twinkling with mischief, Marian delivered a scathingly flirtatious retort that violated quite a few rules of decorum, as well. As her naughty remark segued into a delightful tryst of several hours’ duration – being parents of precocious toddlers, husband and wife didn’t often spend afternoons alone together like this – they never got around to resuming their initial conversation about the librarian’s old girlhood bedroom. Not that the music professor particularly cared or even remembered what they had been talking about, as there were few topics he found duller and more insignificant than interior decorating.

Little did Harold know he would be spending most of the following winter focused on that exact subject…

XXX

As it turned out, Mrs. Paroo really was serious about her intentions to revamp Marian’s old bedroom and, once the Christmas holidays were behind them, she and the librarian spent their weekly lunches determining their plan of attack. At night, when husband and wife relaxed in the parlor with their respective reading materials, Marian pored over department-store catalogs instead of indulging in a beloved Austen, Brontë or Dickens tale. Once she and her mother had made a few tentative decisions, the catalogs were supplemented with fabric swatches and wallpaper samples.

To his amusement and dismay, Harold was often recruited to review these items and give his opinion. But the music professor acquiesced to his wife’s requests with good humor, as he knew he could only blame himself for having brought them upon his head – Marian had been extremely impressed with the beautiful bedchamber and music room he’d crafted for her, so it was only natural she would consult him while attempting to fashion an atmosphere that was both practical and pleasing to the eye.

However, Harold quickly learned that most of the time, what Marian really wanted from him was uncritical but well-reasoned agreement with the opinions she’d already formulated – especially when her views did not entirely mesh with those of her mother. Although the ladies had similar tastes, there were occasions they dissented, and so prevailed upon the music professor to play tie-breaker. Most men would have recoiled in horror at the idea of having to engage in such delicate mediations between wife and mother-in-law, but Harold actually found himself enjoying the challenge. As he truly did not care which designs they ended up picking in the end, it was easy for the silver-tongued music professor to guide both women to a compromise of mutual satisfaction and, more importantly, ensure that his wife would continue to remain on speaking terms with him. When Harold turned to Marian in their bed at night and pressed amorous, inquisitive kisses against the sensitive spots of her neck, the last thing he wanted was for her to rebuff him and move away in a snit because he had quibbled with her over wallpaper patterns earlier that afternoon!

Although Marian had made great headway in redecorating the charming Victorian over the past few years, Harold didn’t remember having to do this much walking on eggshells when she was in the throes of her own projects. Perhaps it was because their home wasn’t being decorated by committee. While Marian gave careful thought to her family’s comfort, she was confident and decisive in her tastes, and there were no other females to gainsay her choices – at least, not openly. For even as disinterested as he was in the subject, Harold knew the general opinion of River City’s ladies was that the librarian kept both a lovely and well-ordered home.

Still, Harold was grateful when the irksome planning phase finally drew to a close. Although this meant the music professor was now relegated to hard labor – moving old furniture out, scrubbing baseboards, stripping woodwork of paint and applying stain, replacing wallpaper, moving new furniture in – it was still a marked improvement over having to formulate careful positions on things like curtain color. The former charlatan found his new station in life surprisingly diverting, as well as useful – such skills would come in handy for maintaining his own abode. And Harold had to admit he felt a curiously satisfying sense of pride as the room slowly transformed from girlhood bedchamber to adult guest quarters. As much as he prided himself on not having strong opinions regarding interior decorating matters, he did have to admit it was going to be a fine-looking room when all was said and done.

Initially, the room had been heavily dominated by the Victorian aesthetic. With its pink-and-white floral wallpaper, whitewashed trim, pink ruffled curtains, and ornate white vanity and bureau, the atmosphere was one of romantic but strait-laced girlishness – exactly the kind of domicile one would expect of a maiden-lady librarian who dreamed of white knights. To compound the overwhelmingly feminine style even further, the narrow, wrought-iron twin bed was adorned with a pink coverlet edged in white lace, and the end table was covered with a Chantilly lace doily that had been handmade by Marian when she was a little girl. But this particular project was only completed thanks to a good deal of help from her mother, who would always be far more talented with a needle than the librarian could ever hope to be. That “darn doily,” as Marian called it, was a large part of the reason she had given up on such ladylike pursuits, and she had kept the sorry little scrap as a reminder of the importance of humbly bearing one’s limitations with grace.

However, Harold did note with wry amusement that the librarian had not seen fit to take this item with her to her new home when she married him. In addition, she had done over her new home in a cleaner and more modern style, with only a slight touch of the Victorian lingering here and there. Voicing these observations had, of course, earned him an exasperated laugh and swat on the arm – which only increased his amusement. But when Harold softened and earnestly admitted that, after a long and tiring day, he loved nothing better than to come home to their beautiful and cozy house, it was Marian who pulled him close for heated kisses when they retired to bed later that evening.

By the end of February, Harold, Marian and Mrs. Paroo finally put the finishing touches on the new guest bedroom. The difference was striking; where Victoriana once reigned, Arts and Crafts now flourished. It was a much less frilly design aesthetic, with its emphasis on clean lines, nature-based motifs and simplicity in adornment. When the trio embarked on their redecorating venture, the first thing to go was the whitewash – they stripped the paint from the trim and the door and re-stained everything to enhance the grain of the wood and bring out its natural color. The pink-and-white walls were done over with paper sporting a forest-green oak leaf and acorn pattern. The ornate white bureau and round, doily-covered bedside table were replaced by a large oak armoire and a square oak bedside table unencumbered by lace trimmings. The russet hues of the furniture wonderfully complemented the jewel-toned greens of the new wallpaper, curtains and coverlet; the rich color scheme lending elegance to the strong “woodsy” theme and thus ensuring the room did not come off as too rustic. In addition, Mrs. Paroo further softened the rather masculine atmosphere by keeping Marian’s old vanity and re-staining it to match the rest of the woodwork, adding a few unessential ruffles to the coverlet and curtains, and placing a basket of cinnamon-scented potpourri on the bedside table. But what really cemented the fact this was no maiden’s or bachelor’s abode was the brand-new bed, which provided ample space for two.

Now that the room was fit for company at last, Mrs. Paroo urged her daughter and son-in-law to spend the night as soon as they could arrange it. And it just so happened that the very next day provided the perfect opportunity for them to take the matron up on her invitation. Although it was a Monday and Winthrop had school the next morning, Marian was not scheduled to work at the library on Tuesday, and Harold didn’t have band rehearsal until the evening. So on the afternoon of Monday, March 1, the Hills found themselves ensconced in the upstairs tower room of Mrs. Paroo’s home, unpacking their clothing and other personal effects.

As Harold opened the armoire to hang up the suit he planned to wear the following day, he glimpsed in the door’s mirror the reflection of his wife standing by the window directly opposite himself. Marian was only half turned away from him, so he could see her face as she gazed out into the front yard, her hand idly toying with the fabric of the emerald-green curtains. Noting that her countenance looked both pleased and wistful, Harold quickly finished what he was doing and went over to wrap his arms around the librarian’s waist.

“A penny for your thoughts, darling.”

Marian let out a small, pensive sigh as she turned toward him. “The curtains are a bit more imposing than I thought they’d be. The color is gorgeous, but perhaps we should have gone with a lighter fabric. Harold – do you think such heavy brocade is too much for this room to handle?”

As she had done so often that past winter, Marian was now regarding her husband with a fixed, expectant expression that indicated she would not let up until he had opined on the issue to her satisfaction. Having anticipated a nostalgic observation about the last tangible trace of her girlhood being gone for good, Harold was caught almost completely off guard by her question. Although he knew it would greatly behoove him to immediately set about crafting a response that was both candid and diplomatic, the beleaguered music professor could only goggle at the librarian. Now that the room was finally complete, he thought he was safe from such interrogations. How many more times was she going to put him through the wringer like this?

Before he could even attempt to smooth his stunned expression into one of casual neutrality, Marian burst into guilty laughter. “Oh Harold, I didn’t mean to frighten you!”

Harold found his devil-may-care grin. “I wasn’t frightened,” he staunchly averred. “Your question just came as bit of a surprise, that’s all. I thought we had ironed out all these kinks a long time ago!”

But Marian continued to regard her husband with an apologetic smile. “I must have been awfully hard on you this winter – I’ve never seen you look at me with such abject dread!”

“It wasn’t dread,” Harold insisted. Although he knew he’d lost this battle as soon as he started gaping at her, his sense of masculine pride wasn’t about let something as paltry as interior design permanently reduce him to an apprehensive, tongue-tied mess! “The brocade curtains _are_ quite striking, especially in a small room with several windows,” he agreed with his wife’s assessment. “But their substantiality lends an air of much-needed sophistication that a sheerer curtain couldn’t deliver.”

This time, his cheerful grin was genuine as the librarian gazed at him with gratified admiration. “Well, even so… it is rather silly of me to start second-guessing such decisions now.” She rose on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I’ve asked more than enough of you – that will be my last question on the subject, I promise!”

Harold masked his relief with a theatrical sigh. “The curse of having good taste, I tell you!”

But Marian seemed to perceive his true feelings anyway; burying her head in the crook of his shoulder, she sheepishly murmured, “Thank you, Harold.”

“It was all worth it, Marian,” he earnestly replied as her mouth gently caressed the hollow of his throat and her fingers traced the column of his spine with long, soothing strokes. Almost anything would have been worth it to have her touch him like _this_. As Harold relaxed into his wife’s embrace and craned his head to kiss her neck in return, he reflected on all their hard work that winter. The upstairs tower had been transformed from prim girlhood bedchamber to sophisticated guest quarters; whatever misgivings his wife might still have regarding minor fripperies of decor, this was now a room that a married couple could get cozy and comfortable in – and he was certainly looking forward to enjoying the fruits of his labor! How “cozy and comfortable” the two of them ended up getting still remained to be seen, but if the way she was caressing him right now was any indication, the evening looked awfully promising. The bigger bed hadn’t left enough space for Penny and Elly’s crib to fit easily in the upstairs tower, so it was decided that the girls would spend the night in their grandmother’s master suite, instead. Although Marian initially protested this course of action – as did Harold, but more out of token politeness than selfless consideration – Mrs. Paroo insisted it would be no trouble at all.

However, there was one factor Harold had entirely forgotten. Husband and wife’s busy but companionable silence was shattered by eager footsteps thundering up the stairs, followed by a woman’s shrill Irish brogue:

“Winthrop, me boy – slow down!”

While Mrs. Paroo might not have approved of her son’s excessive momentum, the resulting cacophony gave Harold and Marian the time they needed to discreetly adapt to this unexpected interruption of their privacy. This early warning was especially fortuitous because the door to the room was ajar and Harold’s hands were wandering places he didn’t think wise for a twelve-year-old boy to witness; by the time Winthrop barreled into the room, husband and wife had moved apart to a much more respectable distance.

“Profethor! Thithter!” the boy greeted them, looking positively thrilled. “Are you really gonna stay the night with us?”

“ _Going to_ stay,” Marian corrected, but her admonition fell on deaf ears – her brother’s attentions were wholly focused on his mentor’s merry grin.

Harold also pretended not to notice his wife’s pointed glare for him to back her up in this matter – although he did give her a conspiratorial wink before kneeling down and placing a hand on the lad’s shoulder. “Yes, son, we are going to stay the night,” he confirmed. “In fact, we just got finished unpacking!” As Winthrop’s face lit up even more and he started babbling excitedly about all the fun things they ought to do this evening, the music professor felt a strange twinge of wistfulness – although he still possessed a boy’s boisterousness, Winthrop was getting taller, and his round face was starting to lose its cherubic cast. At the rate the boy was growing, Harold probably wouldn’t have to be getting to his knees like this much longer and, in a few short years, he might even be the one looking upward to meet Winthrop’s gaze!

But Harold couldn’t indulge in nostalgia for long; his reflections were soon curtailed by the arrival of Mrs. Paroo, who was carrying their burbling daughters in her arms. “Supper will be ready in about ten minutes, darlings,” she cheerfully informed her daughter and son-in-law as they immediately came over to relieve her of her precious cargo. While Marian cradled Elly and Harold bounced Penny on his knee, Mrs. Paroo looked around the room with a broad but bemused smile, as if this was her first time seeing her new guest quarters. “My, isn’t this a lovely room!” she observed, smoothing out one of the corners of the coverlet and straightening one of the curtains – although both were still perfectly pristine. “I should redecorate more often – it’s so nice to have a change of scenery every now and again.”

The music professor and librarian exchanged a furtive, amused look over the tops of the twins’ heads. They knew these were idle compliments; unless out of dire need, Marian’s mother wasn’t likely to so much as change a doily elsewhere in the house. And Harold especially took great relief in that fact!

Once again, a promising reverie was disturbed when Mrs. Paroo, while brushing a non-existent speck of dust off the surface of the vanity, caught sight of her son’s unkempt hair and dirt-spattered pant hems. “Winthrop! You shouldn’t be going about the new furnishings in such grubby clothes,” she reproved. “Go change and wash up, and then come downstairs – I need you to set the table.”

Winthrop scowled – clearly, he wanted to remain tethered to his brother-in-law’s side as long as the man was in residence – but he obeyed without protest. However, in his haste to complete these unpleasant chores and return to where the action was, he galloped up the rest of the stairs and raced down the hall to his room, which earned him another shouted-after scolding from his exasperated mother.

“Blessed Saint Martin of Tours!” she exclaimed to Harold and Marian. “He’s going to break something with all that running around. That boy’s twisted both ankles so many times I’m afraid he’ll develop a permanent limp! But I’d better get back to the supper before it burns… ”

After pausing to check that the armoire doors were securely shut, the frazzled matron exited the guestroom. Neither Harold nor Marian had any idea of picking things up where they had left off; after attending to Penny and Elly – their daughters also needed a bit of freshening up before dinner – the music professor and librarian went downstairs to see if Mrs. Paroo could use some assistance. It was a sign of her exhaustion that the normally indefatigable matron did not insist on handling everything herself – she immediately put the two of them to work. Thankfully, Winthrop heeded his mother’s warning and descended the stairs at a politer pace – although he was still positively bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement.

As her son retrieved four plates from the cabinet with careful but enthusiastic alacrity, Mrs. Paroo warily eyed the proceedings – even to the point of allowing the Irish stew to boil over. Taking pity on his fretful mother-in-law – and not wanting to eat a burned dinner – Harold smoothly interjected himself into the proceedings by swapping the china for linens and challenging Winthrop to demonstrate how many shapes he could formulate out of a cloth napkin. Pleased to have something more creative to do than laying out dishes, the boy went to work with glee. By the time Harold finished setting the table, Winthrop proudly presented a pyramid, bird, boat and rose – and he even made little rabbits for the girls. While the pyramid was excellently formed, it took a bit more imagination to see the other shapes, but none of the adults let on their difficulty.

Thankfully, the hearty meal soothed Mrs. Paroo’s frayed nerves and, by the conclusion of supper, she was once again her serene but energetic self. Still, Harold and Marian insisted on handling the cleanup – to which Mrs. Paroo agreed, on the condition they would allow her to put the girls to bed. Husband and wife gratefully acquiesced to this compromise; however, as it turned out, Penny and Elly would not settle down easily that evening, so Harold ended up sitting with the twins until they finally drifted off. And when he finally rejoined the rest of the family in the parlor around nine thirty, Winthrop clamored for a game of Parcheesi – which he skillfully managed to stretch into a tournament, even though it was a school night and he should have been in bed a half hour ago. But the boy couldn’t mask his ever-increasing fatigue for long – he began to grow bleary-eyed and stifled several yawns as the parlor’s cuckoo clock ticked the night away. When Mrs. Paroo caught her son nodding off in the middle of their fifth round of Parcheesi, she finally put her foot down and made him go to bed.

Fortunately, even Winthrop realized the prudence of this course of action, and allowed his mother to lead him upstairs without so much as a frown. As it was just past eleven o’clock, Harold and Marian also retired for the evening. Although they were finally alone, they were both so exhausted by the time they completed their evening ablutions and sank into bed that they exchanged only the briefest of kisses before falling into a deep and heavy sleep.

XXX

After only a few hours of sweet, insensate slumber, Harold abruptly awoke. Nothing in particular had disturbed his repose; no jarring noise, no unsettling dream. This phenomenon, while peculiar, was also extremely familiar – a few times a week, the music professor would awaken around three in the morning, fully alert and seemingly refreshed. However, about an hour later, exhaustion would descend once more, and he would drift back to sleep. These intense but brief interludes of insomnia had started to occur almost as soon as Harold embraced a conman’s nomadic existence in his youth – one always had to be prepared to make a hasty getaway, if necessary – and persisted even after he’d settled down into a steady and law-abiding life in River City.

Harold figured these bouts of wakefulness were a permanent side effect of his long years on the lam, and he welcomed them. One of the few maxims he continued to live by after his reformation was that time is precious, and he mustn’t waste a single second. So the music professor had learned to use this hour to his advantage. There were a multitude of activities he was prepared to engage in, depending on his mood: enjoying a light nocturnal snack, observing his daughters as they slept soundly in their crib, or heading to the music room to mull over upcoming concerts and emporium expansion ideas.

But as he was a guest in someone else’s house, Harold couldn’t do any of those things with ease on this particular evening. He was loath to leave Mrs. Paroo’s spotless kitchen in disarray and was not really hungry anyway, the girls had their grandmother to watch over them, and the music room was nowhere nearby. Harold supposed he could do his band-related thinking where he was, but he was not of a mind to dwell on business at present. His surroundings certainly didn’t provide an atmosphere that was conducive to thoughts of commerce – a full moon shone brightly outside and, as the curtains were wide open, the brilliant light poured into the room unhindered. While Harold was not generally given to poetic reflection, he was not so cynical as to remain unmoved by the romance of a moonlit bedroom – with the oak leaf motif on the walls and emerald-green coverlet spread over him, he found it both easy and pleasant to imagine that he was bedded down in the midst of a tree-ringed meadow somewhere.

Earlier, when the music professor and librarian were getting ready for bed, Marian had reopened all the heavy drapes he’d just twitched shut – something she’d never done in their home. When Harold looked at his wife with a questioning smile, she explained with a slight blush that she’d always done this on full-moon nights when she was a girl. Finding the romance of the gesture charmingly in keeping with his wife’s dreamy sensibilities, the music professor had consented to keeping the curtains open. And Harold was glad he had; somehow, he found it immensely restorative to gaze at the lushly-decorated surroundings and hear the soothing hum of his wife’s steady breathing beside him.

As ever, the music professor’s thoughts wandered to Marian, and he turned over to watch her sleep. He was particularly entranced by her face; bathed in the rays of the moon, her skin gleamed gently, like fine porcelain. She lay curled on her side facing him, left elbow bent so her hand rested by her cheek on the pillow. Her wedding ring, also blanketed by moonlight, seemed to wink at him.

_Now in the moonlight, a man could sing it…_

There was something else Harold also liked to do when he woke up like this – in fact, it was his favorite late-night activity of them all. And before the exuberant antics of his brother-in-law and daughters had sapped even his prodigious energy, he’d been looking forward to just such a wakeful night with his wife in these new guest quarters…

Extricating his hand from beneath the sheets and coverlet, Harold laced his fingers through Marian’s. As he did so, he caught sight of the ring on his own finger, and paused to watch the moonlight dance across the polished gold. Even after two-and-a-half years, Harold still couldn’t help marveling that he was not only married, but still so happily and passionately in love.

Throughout the music professor’s maneuverings, Marian remained in sound and steadfast sleep. Normally, she would have entwined her fingers with his in return or at least fidgeted at the disturbance, but tonight, she didn’t even twitch. Clearly, the evening’s events had worn her out. Harold grinned – he always enjoyed a good challenge. And the fact that they were lying together in what had once been the librarian’s girlhood room added a tantalizing element to his seduction; even after he’d fallen in love with Marian, the idea of stealing into her room late at night, slipping into bed beside her and waking her with persuasive kisses held just as much allure as it had when he was an unrepentant conman. Of course, he would never have sullied the librarian’s virtue so shamelessly when they were courting and, even after they’d gotten married, it seemed too distasteful a course of action to make love to Marian in her old girlhood room. So Harold had refrained from seizing his opportunity on that autumn afternoon they were left completely alone in the house.

But things had changed since last fall. Now they were ensconced in an elegant guestroom, the rest of the family was asleep, the house was completely quiet, and the obliging moon provided a beautiful backdrop – such romantic circumstances were tailor-made for late-night lovemaking. Bringing his wife’s hand to his lips, Harold began by kissing her ring…


	2. A Moonlit Seduction

Marian’s first groggy impressions were that of a pair of warm hands gently but avidly caressing her hips and stomach. After nearly two-and-a-half years of marriage to a man with robust carnal appetites, she was not startled in the least that her sleep was being interrupted in this manner. On the contrary; the librarian was content to simply lie still and enjoy the sensations of her husband skillfully stroking her curves. It wasn’t until a hard, wet kiss on the side of her neck made her smile and inhale sharply that she fidgeted – she had caught the scent of cinnamon on the air as her pulse quickened, and _that_ was unexpected. As Harold continued to press persistent, open-mouthed kisses along the line of her neck, her eyes fluttered open partway to assess their surroundings. Instead of the warm hues of their Mediterranean-inspired bedroom, she was greeted by a haze of forest, emerald and moss greens, and the wall was covered in oak leaves and acorns instead of burnished gold-leaf.

Despite this astonishing incongruity, Marian was still too beguiled by fatigue to be alarmed. The aroma and sights, though unexpected, were quite pleasing. And even if their surroundings hadn’t been so attractive, the marvelous things Harold was doing with his mouth and hands would have more than compensated for any flaws in the room’s décor. Still half asleep, the librarian smiled dreamily and welcomed her husband’s embrace without protest, languidly writhing against him as his hands found their way to her inner thighs and caressed her with both knowledge and intimacy. Yet she was starting to grow somewhat impatient with the leisurely pace of the proceedings; his fingers traced exquisite, maddening patterns in the softness between her legs, but they did not venture to explore as deeply as she would have liked. But perhaps Harold was waiting for a more unequivocal welcome – as his fingers once again brushed the center of her pleasure, Marian pressed insistently against him and let out a cry of both desire and frustration.

Harold’s mouth instantly covered hers, muffling her moans. “Ssshh, my dear little librarian,” he tenderly whispered. “We mustn’t wake the entire house… ”

At that, Marian’s full faculties returned to her. Her eyes flew open and, courtesy of the bright moonlight illuminating the room, she realized exactly where they were. “Harold,” she gasped, “what are you doing?”

Harold regarded her with his usual cheeky grin. “Making love to my wife?” he said hopefully. He halted in his caresses, but his hand remained where it was as his eyes silently sought her permission to continue.

Even as that queer but pleasant ache of unfulfilled lust in the pit of her stomach urged her to acquiesce, Marian regarded her husband with a disapproving expression. “You’re seducing me here and now?” she hissed, scandalized. “Harold – we’re in my mother’s house!”

In response, Harold simply gave his wife a mischievous look and, as if he knew what she was truly thinking, stroked his way both gently and deliberately down the inside of her thigh. Marian could not contain the pleasant little shiver his touch evoked, nor could she refrain from gazing at her husband with desire. But other than these involuntary reactions, she did not encourage him any further.

Harold chuckled and withdrew his hand to rest it sedately on her waist. “My dear little librarian,” he began, his voice a low, persuasive purr, “it’s not all that different from making love at home, as we aren’t alone there, either. Besides, as our daughters get a bit more mobile, we’ll have to contend with sharp ears and maybe even a few interruptions.”

Although Marian continued to regard her husband with an unmoved expression, she inwardly acknowledged that he made a good point. And when his hand found its way between her legs again, she did not flinch or move away.

“The rest of the house is asleep, the door is closed – we have this room all to ourselves, Marian,” the music professor continued, his countenance growing grave with longing. His fingers were avidly exploring her now, and she gave a soft moan and parted her legs a little wider as Harold craned his head to nip at her neck. “Remember the afternoon last fall when we fell asleep on your old bed together?” he asked in between love-bites. “I promised myself that if we ever got another golden opportunity like that, I wouldn’t let it slip by.” At long last, he slipped a finger inside her. Marian had to bite her lip to contain her ever-increasing pleasure as he stroked her with steady thrusts and said heatedly, “How many nights have you spent in this very room, dreaming of me here with you, my hands caressing you in all your intimate places as I whispered sweet words of love to you? We’ve both wanted this.”

Without warning, Harold withdrew his hand and settled it on her waist once more. Still under the spell of his whispers and caresses, Marian was about to protest – even if she wasn’t entirely convinced such heavy canoodling was appropriate, ending things at this juncture was downright cruel. But before she could open her mouth, Harold rolled her beneath him, and something far more substantial and tantalizing was now urgently pressing against her inner thighs. As Marian breathed her husband’s name in a pleading voice – whether she was pleading for him to continue or desist in his seduction, she was no longer certain – he buried his head in the crook of her neck and exhaled sharply, his warm breath stirring her disheveled curls and tickling the hollow of her throat.

“Marian – if there was any way I could have made love to you in this room while staying within the bounds of decency, I would have done it a long time ago.”

“But Harold,” Marian protested, softened but still resolute as he reached down to caress her thigh again, “this isn’t _our_ bed.”

“On the contrary, Madam Librarian,” he countered, raising his head to look at her with earnest eyes. “After two years of hemming and hawing, your mother finally made it a point to redecorate this room after she saw us asleep on your old bed together last fall. She clearly thought we could use more space in here. And even if this is your mother’s house, this is _your_ old bedroom.”

Marian sighed, but with resignation instead of pleasure; she ought to have known Harold would try to seduce her the moment he got her alone in her mother’s new guest quarters! Yet somehow, she’d never really considered this a concrete possibility – perhaps because she’d been too focused on minutiae like curtain fabrics and wallpaper patterns. To her peril, she’d completely let down her guard and allowed her husband to arouse her right up to the point of no return. For making love with Harold in this room _had_ been a long-held fantasy of hers, and they both knew it. It would have been a lot easier to rebuff the music professor if she could have retreated behind a wall of denial, but in his usual adroit fashion, he’d neatly scaled such battlements before she could even marshal the presence of mind to use them as a defense.

It had been quite awhile since the librarian had given her husband’s seductive talents such a run for their money. She’d long ago lost her hesitancy to canoodle outside of the bedroom – in the past few years, they’d made great progress in achieving Harold’s goal of engaging in a passionate tryst in every room of their charming Victorian. And they’d even managed, at long last, to make love during one of their annual excursions to the faraway field.

However, Marian hesitated to go along with her husband’s carnal inclinations on this particular occasion. Although she knew that deep down, Harold’s longing was rooted in a genuine and abiding love, something about his lustful persuasions seemed a bit too self-serving for comfort. Tonight, he seemed almost like the philandering charlatan of yore, who placed a higher premium on illicit pleasure than the valid apprehensions of his lover. Despite his protestations to the contrary, it _was_ a much different matter for a couple to engage in a clandestine tryst in someone else’s guest quarters than it was for husband and wife to make quiet love in the sanctity of their own bedroom after the children had gone to sleep.

But it was a lot harder to fight such temptations as a happily married woman than it was as a blithely ignorant maid. And it did not help matters that the moon was dazzlingly bright tonight, both illuminating and beautifying everything it touched. Lying supine beneath her husband in the darkness would have been enticing enough on its own; seeing the intense ardor in Harold’s eyes as he gazed down at her, his handsome face and tousled chestnut locks gleaming in the soft moonlight, it was all she could do not to succumb to her baser desires.

But after beholding such a delicious sight, Marian wasn’t sure she could refuse Harold much longer. Even her sensible side was beginning to betray her, coming up with several rationalizations to justify welcoming her husband’s amorous overtures. Their daughters were safely in the care of their grandmother, who would see to their needs, should they wake up unexpectedly. While Winthrop tended to be a light sleeper, he’d tired himself out so thoroughly this evening that not even the ringing claxon of a passing motorcar was likely to wake him. And though this was her old girlhood abode, it had been so thoroughly transformed that it felt almost as if they were at a charming bed and breakfast somewhere, instead of in her mother’s house. If they were quiet and careful in their lovemaking, no one else would ever need know, and therefore disapprove…

Apparently, Marian’s expression must have given her away, because Harold leaned in and gave her such sweet kisses that she could not help moaning and pressing against him – which, of course, his fingers took as tacit encouragement to worm their way back into silky wetness once again.

Despite her mounting pleasure, there was still one impediment to lovemaking that Marian could not so easily dismiss – the matter she delicately referred to, even in the privacy of her own mind, as “taking precautions.” While she and Harold remained passionately in love, they had both deemed it prudent to refrain from conceiving any more children after the birth of the twins. Thanks to Harold’s practical experience and information gleaned from Mr. Madison’s collection of rather salacious “marriage” manuals, husband and wife had so far succeeded in this endeavor. It did help that the prospect of experiencing such happy accidents had markedly decreased since the music professor and librarian had become parents; with two boisterous daughters to look after, they lacked both the time and the energy to be as spontaneous or frequent in their lovemaking as they were during the earliest days of their marriage. In fact, it had been several months since Harold had attempted to seduce her out of a sound sleep.

But now that he had, Marian wondered just when he was planning to attend to his usual pre-conjugal preparations. For Harold’s kisses had grown quite hard and deep, and his body was now writhing insistently against hers in a silent but fervent plea for her to allow him his marital rights. Clearly, he did not seem inclined to extricate himself from their embrace anytime in the near future.

Which meant that _she_ was going to have to broach the subject. Placing her palms on her husband’s chest, Marian gradually but firmly pushed him away, until his mouth was no longer within easy kissing distance of hers.

“Harold,” she said in as no-nonsense a voice as she could muster under the circumstances. “At what point are you planning to” – she pointedly cleared her throat – “attend to the necessaries?”

For a moment, the music professor gazed at her in a haze of utter confusion. The librarian’s annoyance increased. If Harold had been planning to drag her out of a sound sleep and get her all hot and bothered as he did his darnedest to persuade her into an illicit tryst, he ought to have had the decency to have the proper prophylactics on hand! But as Marian beheld her bewildered husband, her cheeks crimsoned and her stomach flip-flopped unpleasantly as irritation turned into apprehension – was she going to have to be even _more_ explicit in her questioning? Harold had always boldly taken the lead in this arena – this was unfamiliar and uncomfortable territory for her to tread.

Marian almost regretted saying anything in the first place. In truth, her courses were due any day now, and the risk of conception was rather minimal. But the librarian’s scrupulous nature – the same bent of character that impelled her to tug on the library doors each night, even though she knew beyond a doubt they were locked – would not have allowed her to succumb to unrestrained abandon without at least acknowledging the enormity of pleasure’s potential consequences.

Thankfully, Harold managed to recover himself enough to grasp her meaning without further prompting. Unfortunately, he also drew the wrong conclusion about the spirit in which she offered this inquiry, and regarded his wife with a delighted grin. And then, darn it all to heck – the librarian was so wretchedly out of sorts she was starting to think in minced oaths – her stomach started flip-flopping with anticipation instead of uneasiness, especially when her husband dipped his head to nuzzle at her neck.

“Well, my dear little librarian,” Harold said in his low, velvety voice, “I figured since nothing is likely to happen tonight no matter how many times we make love, we could forgo that part of the proceedings.”

Marian wasn’t certain what made her blush more – the reminder that her husband was just as meticulous at charting her cycle as she had become, or the fact that she was now, at long last, out of reasons to resist his advances. While she firmly maintained that her mother’s decision to redecorate her old bedroom was _not_ a tacit invitation for the two of them to engage in connubial intimacy on the premises, even the librarian wasn’t naïve enough to pretend that Mama wasn’t well aware that a brand-new guest bed might give them such incentive and thereby increase her chances of being blessed with additional grandchildren to spoil.

Finally accepting this was not a battle she could or even wanted to win, Marian pushed her embarrassment away and sought her husband’s eyes. He was still grinning at her, looking as ravenous as a boy who was just about to dig into one of Ed Langford’s heaping hot fudge sundaes. She shivered a little under her husband’s triumphant, moonstruck gaze – what was it about this man that made her so willing to toss propriety and even caution to the wind?

As if to remind her of the reason, Harold gave her one of his rare, guileless smiles and said earnestly, “Darling… if we _do_ have another child nine months down the road from tonight, I wouldn’t regret it. Not now – not ever.”

Out of sheer Iowa stubbornness, Marian maintained her contrariness even as Harold began to unfasten the front of her nightgown. “That’s just the moonlight talking,” she admonished – but softly, as she would never have regretted such an outcome, either. “You’re addled with romance – such life-changing decisions shouldn’t be made on a spur-of-the-moment whim.”

Marian averted her eyes so her husband wouldn’t see just how much she wanted him, how much she wanted _this_ – it wouldn’t do to puff him up any more than he already was. But Harold stopped undressing her and caressed her cheek with such tender affection that she was drawn to look at him once more.

“Marian,” he said solemnly, “it’s not just the moonlight talking.”

The librarian capitulated at last. “Oh, Harold,” she breathed, winding her arms around his neck and pulling him close.

Letting out a sigh laced with both joy and relief, Harold pressed several eager kisses against her lips, and then moved down to bestow the same affection on her throat. Marian raked her fingers through his rich brown locks and let out soft moans of encouragement as he began to give her the most delectable of love-bites.

However, her husband now seemed to be the one who was plagued by doubt. Pausing in his ministrations, he lifted his head to look the librarian in the eyes again. There was still desire in his gaze, but it was now mingled with uncertainty. Marian knew that look, the struggle between hedonistic charlatan and devoted husband, and her heart warmed to see this unexpected resurgence of her beloved’s finer feelings. She had witnessed a similar expression on his face when they were alone together in the music emporium once upon a time – the afternoon Harold had given her that scandalous love-bite.

The librarian’s expression must have given her away again, because the music professor requested, as he always did when broaching potentially prickly subjects, his usual “penny for your thoughts.”

Although Marian gave her husband a fond smile that was meant to reassure him it was nothing distressing, she hesitated to reveal exactly what was on her mind. It certainly wasn’t the only love-bite of his that ended up leaving a mark on her neck, nor was it the only heated embrace they’d ended up sharing in his office, but what happened that afternoon still remained somewhat of an awkward subject between them, and she didn’t want to inadvertently reopen an old wound. For even though Harold was not the kind of man to wallow in his mistakes, she knew what he’d done that day was one of his rare, lingering regrets. “Oh, I was just recalling a time during our courtship when you looked at me with those same loving eyes,” she said lightly, hoping her nonchalance would discourage her husband from further questioning. “And I couldn’t help but smile at the memory.”

However, Harold apparently felt he still hadn’t gotten his money’s worth from her response. “Oh, I’d say there’s more in that pretty smile of yours than unrestrained joy, my dear little librarian,” he admonished knowingly.

Still loath to spoil the pleasant mood between them, Marian simply beamed at her husband. Giving her an impish grin in return, he dipped his head to nuzzle at her breasts – which soon turned to kissing and then nibbling, until the librarian was giggling and squirming in his arms. Harold simply did _not_ play fair. In her supine position, she was utterly at the music professor’s mercy – and although his persuasions were tender, if she did not acquiesce to them soon, she was bound to disturb someone else’s sleep with her commotion.

“Very well, then!” she relented in a voice that was crosser than she truly felt. “I was thinking about the day you gave me that love-bite in the emporium while we were still courting.”

At that, Harold subsided and lifted his head to look at her again. He was still grinning, but his rictus was now a bit crooked and uncertain. “I had a feeling it was something like that,” he ruefully admitted. “You know… I still feel a pang of remorse about that incident, every now and then.” He didn’t elaborate further, but the moonlight was bright enough for Marian to see his cheeks flush crimson as he continued to gaze at her, bashfully but intently seeking absolution in her eyes.

The librarian pulled her husband close and planted a warm kiss on the top of his head. “You needn’t think on your indiscretion anymore, darling,” she said, softly and sweetly. “I forgave you for it long ago. In any case, the day after our reconciliation more than made up for any discomfort you might have caused. Do you remember our conversation at the footbridge?”

Harold chuckled sheepishly. “How could I forget? After such a tremendous setback in my efforts to build a future with you, I was scared stiff I’d somehow slip up in proving my devotion… ”


	3. Talking Out Loud With Marian

To the untrained observer, October 12, 1912 didn’t seem much different than any other autumn Saturday in River City. The sun rose and everyone went about their usual business: Mrs. Shinn and her ladies engaged in social calls, the school board sang ballads on the town green, adults and children alike flocked to the Candy Kitchen for Ed Langford’s confectionary delights, and Marian Paroo opened Madison Public Library at eight a.m. sharp. And of course, when she closed the doors precisely at noon, Professor Hill was by her side, fresh from the conclusion of band rehearsal.

But a more careful onlooker would have noticed that Miss Paroo greeted her beau with an especially sunny smile, and when their eyes met, there seemed to be a sense of increased devotion between the two of them. An even cleverer spectator might have drawn a connection between this look and the much more well-known and whispered-about fact that before yesterday evening, the music professor had not escorted the librarian home, nor had he been seen in her company at any other time during the previous week.

Fortunately, none of River City’s avid gossips were present to witness these minute but crucial details – the day was so wonderfully warm and pleasant that even the usual Saturday-morning patrons had vacated the library for more outdoorsy pursuits. And those passerby who were attentive enough to note the extra spring in Professor Hill’s step as he and his lady strolled arm in arm along Center Street attributed his enthusiasm to the weather being so unusually agreeable.

But just as when he was leading the boys’ band in their first parade last August, Harold was too mesmerized by being in close proximity with Marian to notice such mundane particulars; if the day had dawned chilly and overcast, he’d have worn the same wide grin and strode about town with the same sense of rejuvenated enthusiasm. After a long, dreary week of heartache and loss, he’d finally triumphed over his stubborn pride and won back the woman he loved – his world would have been bright whether the sun decided to show itself or not.

And even if the temperature was a bit higher than he’d anticipated for a mid-October day in Iowa, the music professor could not attribute the sheen of perspiration forming in various places on his body to the heaviness of his herringbone suit alone. In addition to being excited and eager for the future, Harold was also strangely, ridiculously anxious. Not about his impending engagement, but that somehow – despite the way Marian had kissed him after he’d confessed the worst sin of his life to her – he’d find another way to louse things up again. It was no trouble at all for Harold to seduce a woman, or even to make her fall in love with him. But to keep her – there was the challenge! A lasting liaison wasn’t something the former charlatan had ever attempted, and the learning curve was already proving to be steeper and more treacherous than he’d anticipated.

Thus Harold’s exhilaration and apprehension blended together in a volatile stew that settled in his stomach and rendered him unable to eat – if Marian invited him to have lunch with her family this afternoon, he was going to have to decline. Normally, skipping lunch wouldn’t have bothered him. While he’d always possessed a healthy appetite for bedroom pleasures, he never felt the need to indulge in similar hedonism in other arenas. Whereas desire was a luxury worth sating whatever the demands it made on his time, energy or convenience, hunger and fatigue were nuisances to be dealt with as swiftly as possible – and only when they could no longer be ignored. However, as he had already foregone breakfast this morning and dinner the night before, Harold was growing a bit concerned about his lack of hunger and wondered if perhaps, just this once, he ought to force himself to eat at least a little something. In protest of this notion, his stomach immediately gave a disquieting lurch, and the music professor realized he was going to have to cede to his body’s demands in the matter.

Fortunately, a lunch invitation from Marian was not in the cards today. Once they reached her front gate, the librarian informed Harold with real regret in her tone that she couldn’t visit with him at present because she had to prepare for an Events Committee meeting. She would be hosting the ladies at her home this afternoon, and they were due to arrive within the hour.

“That’s perfect,” Harold said brightly. He was also being sincere in his expression of sentiment. He’d spent most of the previous night working out the particulars for a Halloween masque, and that was one of the things he’d been planning to talk to Marian about this afternoon. So without further ado, he whisked the librarian to her front steps, sat her down, and pitched his idea to her.

“I think a Halloween masque sounds just wonderful!” Marian enthused once he’d finished. “A little short notice, but it shouldn’t be too much trouble to implement. Why don’t you come to today’s meeting, so you can present the idea to the committee yourself?”

Although the music professor generally liked Mrs. Shinn and her ladies just fine, their indefatigable alacrity was another thing he could not quite stomach right now. “Speaking of short notice, I’ve got a few pressing things I need to take care of, just now,” he demurred as he helped her to her feet. It wasn’t a complete falsehood – for one, he wanted to change into a lighter suit! “I’m confident you’ll do just fine in my stead, Miss Marian. But I do want to see you again today. By the time your meeting gets over, I should be available, as well. Perhaps we can spend the afternoon together?”

Marian, who’d been looking rather crestfallen at his refusal, brightened again. “I’d love to,” she replied with unabashed delight. “What did you have in mind?”

Glancing around to make sure no gossipy passerby were in sight or earshot, Harold tugged the librarian to a more secluded corner of the porch. “A long conversation with the woman I love, where no one can see or overhear us,” he said in a low voice, his mouth next to her ear. “Meet me at the footbridge?”

When he pulled back to look at Marian, she was beaming. And when their eyes met, she nodded her assent.

Harold’s stomach flip-flopped again, but he grinned and gave her hands a little farewell squeeze before letting go of them. Marian, for her part, leaned in and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. “I’ll be there around two o’clock,” she promised.

As he watched the librarian go inside and then headed home himself, Harold wished the night of the masque was already upon them; he hadn’t told her _all_ of his plans concerning that evening. Thankfully, as Marian had mentioned, Halloween was only a few short weeks away, even if right now, it felt like a lifetime. But he mustn’t get ahead of himself, as he still had a few more hurdles to overcome before he was ready to implement the final phase of his plans. Hurdles like this afternoon, for instance.

Although Harold wasn’t looking forward to their footbridge rendezvous with his usual avid anticipation, waiting for two o’clock to roll around proved utterly maddening. He decided to indulge in a cool bath and give himself a fresh shave in addition to changing his clothes, but he still found himself with a good deal of time to spare before his upcoming meeting with Marian. While he was grateful for this opportunity to regroup, solitude was not proving as helpful as usual to organizing his feverish thoughts. Fortunately, there was one other place in River City where the flustered music professor might just be able to achieve the composure he craved…

XXX

As usual on a Saturday morning, Marcellus Washburn was quietly and contentedly brushing the horses in Jacey Squires’ livery stable. Also as usual – especially on the Saturdays after he’d become a fiancé – his solitude was eventually interrupted by a furtive but authoritative knock at the door. Marcellus immediately laid down his brush and went to let in his caller, smiling in anticipation as he did so. It seemed awfully early for Ethel to be finished with her meeting, but he certainly wasn’t complaining.

However, his old pal Greg was the one standing on the threshold when he swung open the stable door. Although Marcellus’ smile dimmed slightly, it was out of shock rather than disappointment.

“I need somewhere to lie low for an hour or so, until Marian finishes her Events Committee meeting,” Greg explained. He looked apologetic, as if he knew he was potentially interrupting something. “If it’s not too much trouble, of course.”

“Not at all,” Marcellus assured him, and moved aside to let him in. Even if it did end up putting a crimp into his plans for the afternoon, he was always happy to oblige his old friend.

Normally when Greg came looking for peace and quiet, he took a seat on a saddle stand and grinned that scheming smile of his, while Marcellus got back to his business. Unless they were busy plotting something, the two men were never much for conversation. And Marcellus was just fine with that – even though they didn’t talk much, they often understood each other perfectly. In fact, Marcellus thought that men who had to talk all the time had too much to hide to call each other real friends. It was different for females, of course, as Ethel and her friends were prone to chatter as the day was long.

However, while Marcellus calmly went back to brushing the horses, Greg was far from his usual ease – he paced anxiously about the stables like a restless lion stuck in a cage. Yet he didn’t seem agitated in a bad way; instead of trapped, he looked excited, like he was anticipating something wonderful. Greg tended to get all over the place whenever he was about to pull off something big, but even Marcellus had never seen him this unsettled and eager. Greg’s behavior reminded Marcellus of something awfully familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Knowing he’d never get anything out of Greg that the man didn’t want to tell him, Marcellus simply watched him out of the corner of his eyes, and waited.

It didn’t take long. “Marce, I bought the ring,” Greg informed him, an enormous grin lighting up his face.

Marcellus paused in his brushing. Although the horse snorted moodily at this second unwarranted interruption of its grooming, Marcellus paid the animal no heed. He’d finally realized just what all the pacing reminded him of, and let out a hearty laugh. “So _that’s_ why you’ve been acting like a stallion about to be let loose on a mare!”

Greg grimaced at first, and then laughed along with him. “You always did have the knack of whittling men down to their most basic!” he observed half admiringly, half disapprovingly.

Marcellus shrugged, unperturbed – this was an old back-and-forth between them. “I just call ’em like I see ’em… and I never had the ability to phrase things as prettily as you, Greg.”

To his surprise, Greg didn’t persist in winning the argument as he usually did. “Well, that doesn’t bother me a bit, Marce – you’ve been a loyal friend, and you’re like a brother to me. When the time comes, I want you to be my best man.”

“Of course,” Marcellus said, honored to be asked. Still, he couldn’t help smirking – took Greg long enough to get around to it! Everyone in town knew how mad he was about the librarian, and how mad she was about him in return. “So I take it you’re planning to pop the question this afternoon? You picked a nice day for it; the weather isn’t usually so warm this late in the year.”

“What?” Greg asked with an incredulous laugh. “Of course I’m not going to propose to Marian today!”

Given that Greg had always been a man who moved lightning-fast once he’d made up his mind about something, Marcellus was confused by this hemming and hawing. “But I thought you bought the ring?”

“That I did,” Greg assured him. “But I don’t actually have it in my hands yet. It’s still on order; I went the same route as you and got it special from Des Moines. There’s been enough talk about the pending engagement of the music professor and the librarian – I’m not going anywhere near a jewelry shop in this town! I don’t want Marian to find out all about what her ring looks like before I actually give it to her.”

Marcellus wanted to ask if not having the ring was the only thing fueling Greg’s hesitation to propose, but he suspected he already knew the answer to that question. And he was a man who never bothered wasting words when they weren’t necessary. So he merely smirked and observed, “Those taking part in the betting pool will be awfully disappointed – they’ve been waiting for a solid hint like that.”

Greg grinned. “Ah, yes… I wanted to talk to you about that betting pool.”

“So then you _are_ planning to pop the question in the near future,” Marcellus confirmed triumphantly. Unbeknownst to Greg, he had his own wager riding on this certainty. “When?”

“Oh, you’ll find that out when I make my entry in the pool,” Greg said with a wink. “Anonymously, of course.”

Marcellus’ curiosity finally got the better of him. “Then if it isn’t that, what are you so keyed-up about today?”

Greg’s grin disappeared. “That I _can’t_ propose yet. Not until I’ve been completely square with Marian.” He paused, and his gaze darted around the stable, as if he was checking for eavesdroppers. “I’ve started to fill her in a little bit… about my past, I mean.”

As good as he’d gotten at gauging the moods and inclinations of this chameleon of a man, there were times even Marcellus found it impossible to follow Greg’s ever-shifting line of logic. “But she already knows all about that, don’t she? She knew what you were the minute you set up shop by old Miser Madison’s statue in the middle of town!”

“Yes, but she didn’t know anything in particular.” Greg continued to regard him with a cagey expression. “Last night, I told her my lowest moment – I figured if I started there, everything else would be a breeze after that.”

Marcellus was so astonished he couldn’t help blurting out, “You told her about your father getting caught in the blizzard?”

Greg gave him a sharp look. “And just how do _you_ know about that?”

Marcellus had been comfortable in an honest life for so long now that he’d forgotten how jealously his old comrade still guarded the secrets of his past. The former shill knew more about his partner in crime than the man probably would have liked, even now that they’d both settled down into legitimate lifestyles. So Marcellus found himself hastily – and somewhat defensively – explaining, “You told me that story a long time ago – the first night you were recovering from the knife wound you’d gotten during our job in Pennsylvania. You probably don’t remember; by the time I got you sewn up and settled down, you were delirious with fever. Nothing could have shut you up, short of a gag; you insisted on rambling about your father all night long before collapsing in a heap and sleeping for three solid days! I feared you’d lost your marbles, but when you finally woke up, you were your old self again.”

“So I let that one slip, did I?” Greg marveled, looking both stunned and mortified. He regarded his former shill with an oddly meek expression. “Marce… you, ah, didn’t tell anyone else about that night, I trust?”

“Ain’t my story to tell, so I never told it,” Marcellus staunchly averred. As if he didn’t have enough misfortune in his own life that he had to go fishing for sympathy over other men’s tales of woe! He was tempted to bristle at Greg’s mistrustful interrogation – hadn’t he proven himself, time and again, a loyal and faithful friend?

Once upon a time, Marcellus would have responded with just such a retort. These days, however, he was feeling far too content with his lot to start any fights – or prolong them. He knew that deep down, Greg really did trust him, or he wouldn’t have sought him out for company in his uncertainty. And he couldn’t help feeling sorry for his old friend. Marcellus had witnessed Greg in compromising situations that would have made a sailor blush, let alone a decent man, but except for that night in the high school this past summer, this was the only time he’d ever seen him embarrassed about it.

So Marcellus redirected the train of their conversation to its rightful track. “What did Miss Marian have to say about what you told her?”

Greg reached out and patted him on the shoulder in what seemed to be a gesture of both apology and affection. “She tried to comfort me,” he replied in an awed voice. “More than that – she said it wasn’t my fault.”

Marcellus knew that bewildered look in Greg’s eyes, as he’d experienced the same sense of surprise and relief with Ethel. Before he could congratulate his friend on finding a gal who accepted him, warts and all, Greg’s shoulders slumped.

“But who knows what she’ll say, the more she finds out about me? All the pretty words in the world couldn’t make palatable the things I have to tell her.”

It wasn’t like Greg to be so unsure of himself, especially when it came to women. And from what little Marcellus did know about Miss Paroo – another person who was notorious for keeping her own counsel – he didn’t think Greg had anything to worry about. But then again, winning over a woman for a moment and winning over a woman for a lifetime were horses of a completely different color. And to his knowledge, Greg hadn’t had a lick of experience with the second one; it was only natural he’d be a little off his game.

So Marcellus volunteered, “You know, I’ve told Ethel a few things about my past.”

“And?”

Marcellus shrugged. “It gets a lot easier after the first time. Besides, these Iowa gals are a lot tougher than you’d think. I’ve got plenty of skeletons in my own closet, but nothing I said to Ethel made her stop loving me.”

Greg looked mesmerized at the thought, and Marcellus had to hide another grin. Not so long ago, Greg had stood in that same exact spot and proudly boasted that he’d never get so entangled with an honest woman, that it was only the sadder-but-wiser girl for him!

As if he knew what Marcellus was thinking, Greg chuckled and shook his head. “I’ve been caught pretty neatly, haven’t I, Marce? We both have, when it comes down to it – plop goes the fish!” he summed up with a dramatic swing of his arm.

Marcellus finally let loose that grin he’d been holding back. “If you say so, Greg.” He was plenty looking forward to the quiet life in store for him with Ethel Toffelmier. Let other men say what they would about domesticity; at this point in his life, the former shill found it far more appealing to be a housecat than a stray. Much better to end one’s life comfortable and well-fed instead of broken and alone – which is what happened to every alley cat in the end. Even Greg, the best conman of them all, couldn’t have cheated such a fate forever if he’d continued to stay in the business. Although Marcellus was not the kind of man who was disposed to judging what was best for others, he privately believed it was better that Greg had changed his tune since coming to River City. It relieved Marcellus more than he ever would have let on that his old friend had fallen for the maiden-lady librarian. Greg was the only family he’d ever really had, and he never liked the thought of him coming to a bad end.

Just then, the two men were interrupted by a soft knock at the livery stable door. They flinched and exchanged a quick, alarmed look – they’d been discovered! But they soon relaxed and laughed – old habits died hard. As they regained their composure, the door creaked open, and a sugar-sweet voice expectantly crooned, “Marcy?”

Before she could embarrass herself any further, Greg went over to greet her. “Top of the afternoon, Miss Toffelmier!”

Ethel blushed. “Oh – Professor Hill! I didn’t expect to see you here. Not that it’s not a pleasure, mind you – just a surprise!”

Greg kissed her hand in that grand, Sir-Galahad way only he could get away with. “Not to worry – I was just on my way out. And may I congratulate you on your recent engagement? I’m sure you and Marce will be very happy together; you couldn’t ask for a better husband.”

Ethel giggled and shot a look at Marcellus. When he gave her a fond but impish smirk in return, her cheeks crimsoned even more, and she hurriedly turned back to Greg. “I’m sure I couldn’t, Professor Hill. Oh, and before I forget, we – that is, all of us in the Events Committee – just loved your idea for a Halloween masque. In fact, after Miss Marian presented it, we spent the entire meeting talking about it – ”

Suddenly, Greg looked alarmed. “Forgive me, Miss Toffelmier,” he said, cutting her off, “but you just came from your meeting, didn’t you?”

“Why, yes!”

“What time did it end?”

Ethel paused to think. “About a half hour ago, I’d say. Is something the matter, Professor Hill?”

Looking thoroughly annoyed at himself, Greg bade them both a polite but curt farewell and rushed out of the livery stable.

“My goodness, what’s he in such a rush about?” wondered Ethel as she came over to pet the palomino Marcellus had been brushing.

Marcellus was certain he could guess, but he simply shrugged and went over to shut the door.

However, his gal was no fool. “I suppose he must be late for a meeting of his own,” she surmised with a smile. “After Miss Marian told us about the masque, she didn’t say much of anything for the rest of the meeting! She just sat there with that dreamy, faraway look she gets when she thinks no one’s paying attention.”

Marcellus grinned at that. Ever since Greg had come to town, that look of the librarian’s was so well known to the River City-ziens that even he’d seen it once or twice.

“Well, I must say it’s a wonderful change from the way she’s looked for the past several days,” Ethel said fondly. “She went around with such gloom in her eyes it was heartbreaking. And since Professor Hill seemed to be keeping his distance, we all figured they must have had a spat of some sort.”

“You’d know a lot more about that than I would,” Marcellus said carefully, not wanting to betray his friend’s confidence.

Ethel gave him a skeptical smile. “Oh, would I?”

Marcellus remained steadfastly silent.

Recognizing she’d hit a wall, Ethel gave a little shrug and moved on. “Well, I don’t know about Professor Hill, but Marian Paroo tends to keep things to herself. We all knew something had happened, but none of us would have dreamed of directly inquiring if anything was the matter. Might as well ask the wind to explain why it’s wailing! She’s a close-mouthed one, just like her younger brother… it must run in the family.”

One of the things Marcellus had always admired about Ethel was that, despite her partiality for gossip, she knew when not to pry. Somehow, this made a fellow _want_ to open up to her. But as he’d said to Greg, this wasn’t his story to tell.

“Professor Hill’s also a hard nut to crack,” Marcellus acknowledged – he felt safe in saying that much. “But with Greg’s way with words and Miss Paroo’s library full of them, I’m sure the two of them will figure out just what to say to each other, in the end.”

“Well, I’m glad they’ve patched things up,” Ethel said happily, although it was clear from the twinkling look she was giving him that her interest was no longer in another couple’s canoodling. “Maybe we’ll have _two_ weddings to look forward to this winter… ”

This time, she didn’t blush even slightly when Marcellus gave her that roguish smirk of his. So he pulled his fiancée into his arms, and nothing more was said about the music professor and librarian, or any other subject, for quite some time.

XXX

Later, Harold and Marcellus would reminisce about their conversation in the livery stable and, as they were both happily and comfortably married to the women they loved by then, share a hearty laugh over pre-proposal jitters. But at the present moment in time, the music professor hightailed it to the footbridge without a single thought for the friends he’d left behind in the livery stable – he was too busy praying he hadn’t made another costly mistake with Marian.

Harold rounded the bend on the secluded path to see the librarian had indeed beaten him to the footbridge. When he further noted she seemed wholly absorbed in gazing dreamily at her reflection in the creek, he relaxed a little. And when she looked up to greet him with a serene smile, he beamed at her with both pleasure and relief.

Still, the music professor felt the need to explain his tardiness. “Forgive me for not being here sooner, Miss Marian – I stopped to visit with Marcellus at the livery stable and lost track of the hour.”

“No apology necessary, Harold,” she said, her demeanor utterly unperturbed. “I only just arrived five minutes ago, myself. The Events Committee meeting ran a bit late, and the afternoon was too warm to remain in the brown tweed I put on this morning.”

Indeed, just as Harold had changed into his white seersucker suit, Marian had swapped an autumn frock for her light-blue summer gown with white-lace collar and elbow-length sleeves. Sensibly, she wore a matching shawl, though it dangled idly off one arm at present. Harold spotted the silver bracelet he had given her glinting in the warm sunlight, and had to refrain from lifting her wrist to his mouth and pressing several kisses against it. If he started that now, they’d never get anywhere today!

Fortunately, Marian’s next statement derailed such trains of thought – although she did clasp his hands in hers. “I have the most marvelous news, darling. The Events Committee not only approved of your idea for a Halloween masque, that’s all they talked about this afternoon! In fact, they were so enthusiastic in their discussions, I had quite a time getting them out the door.” She regarded him with a mischievous gleam in her eye. “You’ve created Frankenstein’s monster – expect to be peppered with questions when you next run into the ladies!”

“Oh, yes,” Harold laughed and said without thought. “Ethel Toffelmier was telling me how excited they all were.” When the librarian looked confused, he hastily amended, “She came by the livery stable to see Marcellus – that’s how I knew I was running late for our rendezvous. You see, I hadn’t realized so much time had passed until Miss Toffelmier told me how long ago she’d left your house. Not that I was doing anything especially engrossing, just sharing a bit of friendly conversation with an old friend… ”

Realizing he had progressed from thorough explanation to suspicious babbling, Harold closed his mouth. But that wasn’t enough to halt the uncomfortable warmth creeping up the back of his neck and suffusing his cheeks. If he wasn’t so disgusted with himself, he would have laughed – how was it that in the course of being transparently honest, he came off looking like even more of a prevaricator?

Marian’s mouth twitched slightly, but she did not laugh. Instead, she stepped even closer to the harried music professor, wrapped her arms around him, and buried her face in the crook of his neck. “Oh, Harold,” she breathed, “I’ve missed you so much this past week!”

The librarian’s proximity should have addled his wits even more, but her endearments settled his nerves, and Harold felt the return of his usual silver-tongued grace. “I know I’m trying a little too hard with you today,” he said with a rueful chuckle. Winding his arms around Marian’s waist, he kissed the top of her head. “I nearly let you slip through my fingers, my dear little librarian, and I refuse to do that again.” Feeling this was as good a segue as any, he took a deep breath and continued, “I didn’t ask you to the footbridge for romance, Marian.”

“You didn’t?” The librarian didn’t seem surprised by his words, as she did not flinch in his embrace. But she did sound rather disappointed, and she nestled closer to him, as if in protest.

Harold couldn’t help smiling at her reaction. “No, I didn’t,” he admitted, even as he smoothed a few honey-blonde curls from her cheek with his fingers.

“Indeed,” Marian observed, leaning into his caress.

Silence fell. The librarian was so warm and willing to remain in his arms that Harold couldn’t let her go, even though he knew he should. For a moment, the music professor strongly considered surrendering to the passionate embrace that beckoned, allowing himself to revel in the rewards of a hard-won reconciliation. It would have been all too easy to place a finger beneath his beloved’s chin, lift her face to his, and cover those kissable crimson lips with his own. When was the last time he had kissed Marian, properly and thoroughly? Harold struggled to recall. It had been at least a week, maybe longer.

Smart enough to realize that even the nobility true love engendered couldn’t keep him abstinent forever – in fact, the more he fought his instincts, the more they threatened to overwhelm him – Harold struck a compromise with his baser inclinations. He did not kiss the librarian, but he did bend his head to luxuriate in her curls again, breathing in the scent of her hair, which smelled pleasantly of lavender and cleanliness. For the time being, this was enough to pacify his ardent nature. Harold had experienced the fulfillment of passion in many women’s arms, but he had never felt such a profound and wonderful sense of contentment as he did when he was with Marian. Although he had not yet made love to her, he experienced ten times the satisfaction he ever got from a roll in the hay with a sadder-but-wiser girl. Being with Marian – even just standing in the stillness of tranquil affection – sated something in his soul that he hadn’t even realized was wanting.

Of course, his carnal appetites soon resumed their clamor to be gratified, as they always did whenever he canoodled with the librarian. Which is why, despite the closeness of their embrace, Harold made sure he was not holding Marian _too_ close. And for all her newfound eagerness to give and receive affection, she did not attempt to breach that small but crucial gap between their hips. Whether the librarian maintained her distance out of the chaste ignorance of a maid or the prudent restraint of an upright woman, Harold did not know – but he had the feeling that as their relationship continued to advance, physical familiarity would naturally increase as emotional intimacy deepened. If their courtship was a peach, it was fast getting ripe – when Marian did start to press against him with curiosity and desire, he damn well better make sure she was doing it as his fiancée!

But first, they needed to talk. Harold had so much to tell her, and so little time in which to do it. Heeding his better self for once, he let go of the librarian. Taking her by the hand, he led her to the hollow log and, once they were both seated upon it, got right down to business.

“Marian, I’ve told you something very important about my past, but there’s still a lot you don’t know about me. I want to remedy that. But the thing is, I’ve lived a full and adventurous life, so I’m not entirely sure where it would be best to begin, or what you would find most interesting and instructive. So,” he said smoothly, even though his heart began to beat wildly in his chest, “I’m going to make my life an open book to you. Ask me anything you want to know.”

The pause in between his statement and her response was one of the tensest moments Harold had ever experienced in his life – especially when Marian’s eyes lit up with a keen longing that indicated she had quite the list of burning questions in mind. But true to form, the librarian maintained her judicious reserve even in the face of such inviting carte blanche, and asked how he met Marcellus Washburn.

Harold grinned – he’d been hoping to tell this story first. “Well, before I get into that, I’ll have to give you a little background information on how I got into the conning game in the first place. Although I had some book smarts and was winning enough with my teachers to make decent marks in school, a college career wasn’t for me – and we couldn’t afford it, anyway. My mother would have liked me to find a position as a clerk in a shop somewhere nearby, but I had a young man’s wanderlust, and I wanted to see new places. Given my gift of gab and ease in making acquaintances, the position of traveling salesman seemed a natural fit for someone of my talents. So I kissed my mother goodbye and went straight to New York City to start at the top… and ended up beginning at the bottom, selling clocks to farmers in rural Connecticut. But even so, I managed to place a timepiece in every farmhouse I visited – usually, I’m both sad and proud to say, through flattery and false praise.”

He did not tell his beloved that his experience with women began long before he hit the road, and that being courted by several lonely and attractive housewives was what gave him such a taste for the sadder-but-wiser girl in the first place. Those little details weren’t strictly necessary to reveal, and he knew that for all her curiosity, Marian was far from ready to hear more about that particular aspect of his life.

“Soon I got bored of doing that, and with my impeccable sales record, bigger and better jobs came my way. I gradually worked my way up and down the East Coast, never staying with one company for too long – managers tended to try and promote me to the prestigious corner office jobs, and I didn’t want to stay in one place. So as you can see, I started out as a legitimate salesman – and through a series of events, I eventually realized it was far more profitable to work as an out-and-out conman.” He gave Marian a lopsided grin. “But even so, my first con was sort of by accident.”

The librarian smiled impishly. “Indeed, Professor Hill?”

Harold gave her an earnest nod. “I worked for some crummy company whose name I can’t even remember, and they went bankrupt and closed their doors while I was in the midst of a job. It just so happened I was selling musical instruments – although, of course, without the title of ‘professor’ and the conceit that I actually knew anything about leading bands. Well, mostly,” he amended when Marian’s smile turned skeptical. “Just as I never quite mastered French as a boy, music was one of those things I studied but never really learned. I’d passed both those classes by charming cleverer classmates into helping me with assignments, and the little I did manage to learn was more than enough to sell instruments to the largely tone-deaf denizens of small towns. But my success came tumbling down like a house of cards when my superiors informed me the company couldn’t deliver the merchandise as specified. I was to apologize to everyone – and if possible, refrain from refunding their money. You see, the company had debts to settle, and they wanted to hold on to as much of their ill-gotten largesse as they possibly could.”

Harold paused and let out a long sigh. “A better man than I would have thumbed his nose at his superiors, given everyone’s money back to them, and found another job. I did two of those three things – without telling a soul, I took every red cent I’d made and skipped town with it. I could tell you I did it mainly for my mother, who was only ever a few dollars away from abject poverty, but that wouldn’t be the entire truth. Even though I did send her a portion of my fraudulent gains, I kept the money mostly out of my own sense of stubbornness and greed. It was more money than I’d ever made on a sales venture before – especially as I did not have to surrender any of it to the company. The first week afterward was nerve-wracking, though – I moved fleetingly from place to place as if I was being tailed by C. Auguste Dupin himself. But no one ever came after me, so I eventually relaxed. I was young and cocksure, intoxicated by my success and the low overhead of being in business for myself. My next step was to set about refining my act so I could do this full time. Music had been very good to me, so I decided to continue in that vein, and got a temporary job with a traveling circus.” He gleefully rubbed his hands together. “After all, what better way to gain experience as a performer while still remaining mobile?”

Realizing he might have been coming across as a little too proud of his devious cunning, Harold paused again, and regarded Marian with a contrite expression. “It was a bad path I was going down,” he acknowledged with the seasoned regret of the experienced. “If I had known even half of the trouble I was to face as a man on the wrong side of the law, I probably would have thought twice about what I was doing.”

Marian simply regarded him with a kind smile, and squeezed his hand in silent encouragement to continue.

“I met Marcellus Washburn when the circus stopped in Joplin, Missouri. I had some spare time on my hands, and I was anxious to see how well I could stir up a crowd on my own. So I went to the local park and, in the guise of drumming up customers for that night’s performance, put on the most rousing, musical display I could manage. There was an old Italian bandleader I’d observed in my travels who had the most wonderful, sweeping mannerisms as he conducted, and I imitated him to perfection – the circus was sold out that night. I returned to the park the day after, and the circus sold out once again. I wasn’t able to get to the park on the third or fourth night, and attendance dropped dramatically. Naturally my employers wanted to know why, and set about investigating the matter. As soon as they caught wind their success was due to my efforts, they took me off menial tasks like hauling equipment and sweeping up after animals and sent me out not just to the park, but all over town. So I got them their crowds back – and then slipped away on a different train when the circus ended its run in Joplin. Eager to move on to my next venture, I got off at the first tiny, unassuming-looking town I came to and set up shop for the first time ever as ‘Professor Harold Hill, bandleader extraordinaire.’”

Marian looked confused. “But I thought you said you met Marcellus Washburn in Joplin?”

Harold grinned. “Yes, but I didn’t realize I had. In the vast throngs that gathered around me, there was a kid from Brooklyn who was watching it all, entranced by my every move. Marcellus Washburn was in his mid-teens, a runaway who’d escaped from a bad home. While I was a master of drawing a crowd, he was a master of blending into one. Living with a father who was prone to unpredictable and violent outbursts, Marcellus learned early on it was safest to operate in shadow and secrecy, never raising his head lest it get clobbered. And with his handsome but forgettable face, keen eyes and quick fingers, he soon discovered he was a natural at pickpocketing. Like me, he also pragmatically concluded that for those with certain talents, crime was easier and paid a whole lot better than honest work. So after his father gave him a beating that nearly killed him, he decided he might as well take his chances on the road.”

“Goodness,” Marian shivered, “his father sounds even worse than yours!”

“From what little he’s told me, his dad made mine seem like father of the year,” Harold said darkly. “In fact, I’m surprised Marcellus didn’t take off a whole lot sooner! He had a mother and brother once, but they both passed away in a cholera outbreak when he was ten. I figured he stayed so long because he loved his home – he was a real Brooklyn boy – and he knew if he tried to go anywhere else to ply his trade, his accent would make him stick out like a sore thumb. When he was finally forced to leave for the sake of his own survival, he continued to rely on petty theft to eke out a living because that was the only way he knew. Unsurprisingly, he had difficulty netting the same success rate outside of a major metropolis like New York City. So he started searching for something higher up on the food chain than pickpocketing, something that netted him more than the few meager wallets he managed to snag in his travels. In me, he found a lot of things: a mentor, a partner in crime, a new brother of sorts to look after, and everything he’d ever wished for in a father figure.”

All at once, Harold’s emotions coalesced together into a single, solid lump in his throat, forcing him to pause in his tale. The music professor had always considered his plucking Marcellus Washburn from the gutter one of the few good acts he’d committed in his life, but what had he really been saving the kid from? All he’d really done for Marcellus was exchange the lifestyle of petty street thug for the more refined but no less heinous occupation of con artist. No matter how many times Harold had risked his own neck for his friend during their long partnership, it could not make up for the fact that he’d aided and abetted him in continuing down the path of corruption.

Marian squeezed his hand again. “Marcellus Washburn could have done a lot worse than to find you,” she said softly.

“I suppose,” Harold allowed, his voice a mere croak. Swallowing and then clearing his throat in an effort to chase that bothersome lump away, he finally managed to recover his composure enough to continue. “So this runaway teen followed me when I left Joplin. He was so good at remaining hidden in the shadows I would never have cottoned on to the fact that he’d been hanging around for so long – but for one thing. I’d heard him speak in Joplin – he purchased a ticket to the circus, and I happened to be standing nearby when the transaction took place. I only noticed him because of his Brooklyn accent, which made quite the impression on me, given that we were in Missouri at the time. Curious, I started to observe the boy and, quickly realizing he was being watched, his eyes met mine. But he gave me a smile that was so blandly innocent I grinned at him in return and then went about my business. I soon forgot about that encounter – until, while in that tiny town in the middle of nowhere, I felt a light tap on my shoulder and heard that same, distinct voice urging me to follow him to the train station because everyone knew I was a conman.

“At first, I was stunned to learn I was in such imminent danger of overstaying my welcome; although selling empty promises proved a lot more challenging than I had bargained for, I’d managed to pull off a moderately successful con in that little Missouri town. I’d gathered all the down payments on the instruments I sold and was looking forward to collecting the rest of the money and skipping town once everything arrived. But before the instruments came in, somebody’s relative traveled from Joplin for a visit and immediately recognized me as the man from the circus. Word traveled fast as it always does in those places; it wasn’t long before the cleverer folks in town put two and two together and realized I was bamboozling them. So the constable was in hot pursuit and my career as a conman might have ended that day, but for Marcellus leading me along back roads as surely and confidently as if he’d grown up in the area.

“When we were safely on the train out of town, the kid introduced himself as Marcellus Washburn, Marce for short. I told him my name was Gregory Granger, Greg for short – I had long stopped using my real name with anyone but my mother. Although the boy had the upper hand – by now, he had enough information on me to get me in real trouble – I was the one who interrogated him, demanding to know who he was and what he wanted. Perhaps I should have broached the conversation in a more appreciative tone, as he did save my hide, but I was too shaken and out of sorts at my unexpected close shave. And I was also unnerved that some ragtag kid had managed to follow me and learn his way around without my knowledge. Perhaps I wasn’t as cut out for the conning game as I originally thought…

“But Marcellus didn’t even blink at my abruptness. In that matter-of-fact way of his, he explained he admired my ability to put on a good show, was sick of picking pockets for a living, and wanted in on the racket I was trying to run. Now initially, I’d intended to work alone. But I immediately recognized the value of a good accomplice – the kid had already saved me from one disastrous scrape. He might just prove invaluable in the future, someone who could case a place and assess the gullibility of its citizens before I went in and worked my magic. And he could certainly get me out of town in a hurry when it became necessary! Giving the teen a measured look, I asked him if Marcellus Washburn was actually his name. When he told me it was, I informed him my first rule was that he should never give out his real name to anyone – least of all to me. Marcellus simply shrugged and said he was good at disappearing whether anyone knew his real name or not. The kid had a point – _I_ was the one who needed an alias to counteract my flashy presentation.

“So I told this Marcellus Washburn I’d grant him a trial period and took him along on my next job. This time, things went a whole lot smoother – we got away with the entire price we charged for the instruments long before anyone caught wise. From then on, there was no question about it – we were partners… ”

And so Harold spent the rest of the afternoon telling Marian all about their escapades as Professor Hill and loyal shill.

“… and after that hair-raising run-in with the infamous and formidable Mrs. Dolly Vandergelder, Marcellus and I parted ways. He was tiring of all our close shaves and, since we’d come to Yonkers right after having just barely escaped disaster in Appalachia, this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Marcellus went home to Brooklyn to do some thinking, and I headed west to try my hand at selling steam automobiles. It wasn’t until somebody actually invented one a few years later that I got back into the business of selling boys’ bands, refining my operations with the addition of uniforms, instruction books and the concept of a revolutionary new ‘think system.’ Having dried up most of the southwest in my quest to sell them nonexistent steam automobiles, I decided to begin my musical sales venture in Illinois, and then moved on to Iowa. Little did I know Marcellus had decided to settle in River City, and as a legitimate livery stable hand! Perhaps through this stunning coincidence, Providence was trying to tell me something. Of course, I was determined to forge ahead with my con, and didn’t think too deeply on my own behavior until a certain librarian walked into my life. And that’s where I’ll end my tale, Miss Marian,” Harold concluded with a smile, “because you know the rest of the story from that point on.”

Marian, who’d been listening avidly and without remark for most of the afternoon, gave her beau a sunny smile in return. “I do indeed.”

Having talked himself out at last, Harold simply nodded, and the two of them fell into a companionable silence. During the course of their long conversation, he’d refrained from his usual sly attempts to caress Marian so as not to be distracted by desire, and even went so far as to let go of her hand at one point. But the librarian’s hand had eventually found its way back to his and, as he’d drawn a good deal of comfort from this quiet gesture of affection, the music professor did not relinquish his hold on her again.

It was Marian who broke contact with him, out of sheer necessity; the sun had dipped low in the sky and the air had grown a lot cooler around them, so she had to draw her shawl tighter around her shoulders. But her lace wrap was too thin to suffice, for she continued to shiver. As she did not seem inclined to bring their footbridge rendezvous to a close and Harold was also loath to return to civilization just yet, he wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her nearer to him for warmth. To his relief, she soon stopped shivering, and to his delight, she took this as an opportunity to lay her head on his shoulder.

And so they continued to sit together in tranquil silence as twilight approached. Harold’s stomach had settled almost back to normal by now, and he was optimistic he’d finally be able to break his fast this evening. Although he’d not lived a life that a strait-laced librarian would approve of in a potential husband, nothing he’d said caused her to gaze at him in disgust or recoil from his presence. In fact, if the way she was nestling against him was any indication, ending their romantic association was the last thing she was pondering. However, even though Harold was vastly relieved that his tales of ill-conceived adventure had not tarnished Marian’s regard for him, his stomach still continued to flip-flop unpleasantly enough to put him off food for a little while longer – they still had some unfinished business to discuss.

As much as he hated to shatter the wonderful mood between them, Harold turned toward his beloved and whispered, “Marian?”

“Hmm?” she asked dreamily, lifting her head from his shoulder.

“Did you have anything else you wanted to ask me?” he inquired, his tone gentle but insistent; despite his hesitancy to press his luck, he was determined to get Marian to ask the question she’d initially had in mind before settling for hearing more about his association with Marcellus Washburn. “You looked like you had a lot of ideas for inquiry earlier.”

The librarian blushed slightly, but she did not keep him guessing for too much longer. However, she did stammer an unusual amount, and Harold had to strain to hear her words: “I was just wondering, were you – that is, have you ever been” – here her voice grew very soft indeed, as if she feared that what she had to say would destroy the profound but tenuous understanding between them – “married?”

Although Harold heard the present tense loud and clear in her carefully phrased inquiry, he couldn’t help laughing in sheer relief. When Marian looked miffed at this response, he immediately clasped her hands in his and kissed them warmly. “Darling, I assure you I’m not laughing at you. Nor was I deriding the institution of marriage itself. I was just expecting a much tougher question to answer!” When the librarian nodded understandingly, he heartily – but not too enthusiastically, as he did not want her to draw the conclusion he was a stubbornly confirmed bachelor – reassured her that there was nothing in his past that would cause any impediment to their continued courtship: “In all my years on God’s green earth, I never tied the knot or even came close to it. Despite having a vast network of acquaintances, I kept everyone at a distance – especially after Marcellus left. I had no father, no mother, no male companion, no female consort, no wife, no children, no family to speak of. When I came to River City, I was completely alone in the world.”

While Harold’s honest answers to both her spoken and unspoken questions were the ones he knew she wanted to hear, the ensuing silence as the librarian digested all of this was a little awkward. Perhaps that had been a dangerous question, after all, as it had the potential to segue into the dicey arenas of his past love affairs and his long-term plans concerning their future together – both topics he wisely realized neither of them were ready to discuss in greater detail at present.

Thankfully, Marian’s next question, while perceptive, also demonstrated that her sense of discretion was just as astute as his. “And now, after everything… do you still consider yourself alone in the world?”

Although her inquiry had both subtly indicated her hopes without putting undue pressure on him to propose, Harold wished more than anything that he had his ring handy. Since he did not, he swallowed – that damn lump had come back into his throat – and demurred, “I’d say the answer to that question hinges entirely on you, Miss Marian. You’ve learned a lot about me in the past few days.”

The librarian looked genuinely confused. “Why should that trouble me?”

Harold had shared boudoirs with a great number of women in the course of his existence, but never had he felt so intolerably and helplessly exposed as he did right now. Marian had not yet seen him unclothed and he, in turn, had witnessed no more of her than was proper for a romantic suitor, but that hadn’t stopped them from getting under each other’s skin. There was no going back from this kind of intimacy; even if Harold refused to say anything more, he couldn’t rescind what he’d just revealed about the deepest fears and insecurities of his heart. Despising this sensation of utter vulnerability but realizing there was no easy way around it if he wanted to be with Marian for keeps, Harold swallowed and went on, “My past is far from exemplary. The more you learn about me and about what I’ve done, the less you might welcome my attentions and,” – here he tried to drum up his usual tone of insouciant lightheartedness, but instead came across sounding as if he’d swallowed something bitter – “decide it would be best if we kept things strictly cordial between us, after all.”

As he spoke, Marian’s eyes began to glisten; indeed, when she blinked, a tear or two escaped and rolled down her cheek. Before Harold could say anything more – not that he knew exactly what he wanted to or should say at this juncture – a look of possessive affection mingled with fierce determination came into her eyes. “ _Mister_ Hill,” she informed him a low, heated and almost-affronted voice, “I have never, in all the time that we’ve known each other, been further from deciding to do such a thing.”

Cupping his cheeks in her hands, Marian closed the remaining distance between them and kissed him passionately. Still reeling from her declaration, Harold was too dumbfounded to take the lead as he normally did in all things physical, even though her mouth was warm and eager against his and her tongue immediately sought to part his lips for a deeper kiss. Unwilling and unable to resist, he succumbed completely to the librarian’s confident embrace. Yesterday, she had also initiated their kiss, but her tempo was sweet and unhurried, and he had purposely let her take the reins on that occasion. Today, Harold’s decision to abrogate control was made entirely unconsciously.

It should have been dangerous for him to cede control like this – such a fervent kiss could quickly and easily become a prelude to much, much more. Yet Harold was not in imminent danger of ravishing Marian unless she herself made the overtures. But this was not a likely hazard, for despite this enthusiastic demonstration of passion, she was still too inexperienced a maid to initiate such proceedings. And the fact that they were sitting side by side on a log kept them from getting too close – if they had been embracing while standing upright, the music professor had the hunch there would not even have been that crucial hairsbreadth of space in between their hips to keep things from getting overly heated.

At least, these would have been Harold’s thoughts if he had not been so addlepated – his rational mind was far too gone to string such coherent reflections together. He was dimly aware that he was letting out small groans at various intervals, and that his hands were kneading the small of the librarian’s back. In return, Marian was arching against him and running her fingers through his curls, her hands raking their way to the short fringe on the back of his neck. At that, Harold shivered involuntarily and clung to her, and the rhythm of their kiss was briefly interrupted when the librarian smiled against his lips. He would have done whatever Marian asked of him at this moment, and they both knew it. He had never felt this way in a woman’s arms before; it was both frightening and exhilarating to be the seduced instead of the seducer. Later, Harold would be stunned he was able to keep himself from prematurely consummating their relationship, but the same sweet surrender that rendered him so unusually subservient in the librarian’s arms also saved him from making such bold advances.

However, his beloved’s amorous attentions were now nearing what he would call exquisite torture; it was time to put an end to this. But as the glimmers of awareness started to take hold once more, his carnal instincts also grew more insistent on having their way. Harold hadn’t seen Marian for a week, and he hadn’t held her in even longer. He’d been fighting with himself all afternoon not to kiss that spot on her neck in a display of apology and desire, he had spent the last several hours giving her candid glimpses into his past, and he was currently operating on less food and sleep than even he approved of in regard to basic maintenance. After all that, even a man with the staunchest willpower would lack the mental reserves necessary to abstain when presented with this final temptation. While Harold refused out of his newfound sense of principle to actively initiate making love to Marian, he certainly wasn’t going to decline whatever she was prepared to offer him. His carnal appetites had been denied too long for that, no matter what his nobler feelings remonstrated. So he ended up striking another compromise with his baser inclinations: Wrapping his arms both firmly and approvingly around his beloved’s waist, Harold allowed her to kiss and caress him in whatever way she wished.

Fortunately, Marian did not chart a course the two of them might have ended up regretting later. Gradually, she eased up on the intensity of her embrace and gently parted her lips from the music professor’s. Still completely dazed, Harold could only gape at her. They were both trembling a little, but the librarian looked steadily back at him, her face flushed with delight, desire and even a small measure of triumph. Though he remained rather addled, Harold immediately recognized that look – he had often regarded Marian with a similar expression after kissing her. But now he was the one who was lost in befuddled wonder.

It wasn’t a role reversal that lasted for long. Feeling the resurgence of his usual masculine pride, Harold was struck with the irresistible urge to pull the librarian to her feet, press himself against her and pepper her face, neck and lips with kisses that left her moaning and writhing in his arms. Or better yet – he could whisk Marian to a soft patch of grass in one of the area’s many hidden alcoves, lay her down supine beneath him, and continue their passionate explorations in complete privacy. She was an intoxicating minx, his dear little librarian, and he was going to make full and passionate love to her when the time came.

Yet even now, when his reserves of forbearance were all but depleted, Harold somehow found the strength to continue resisting the siren song of his carnal inclinations. Although the reformed conman still made it a point never to put off pleasure until tomorrow lest he collect nothing but a pile of empty yesterdays, he was discovering there were times it could be far sweeter to delay his gratification until just the right moment. For mixed in with his lust was genuine longing to be sweet with Marian, to go as slow with her as she needed him to go, to give her joy in both body and soul, to wake up next to her each morning, and to see her waiting for him when he came home at night. Those last two things were highly unlikely to happen if he capitulated and made love to her too soon.

While Harold had contemplated such conjugal bliss before, he always did so with a knot of trepidation in his stomach. Now he was looking forward to marriage with nothing but anticipation – and even, startlingly, a bit of impatience. Perhaps he could just go ahead and propose to Marian right now…

 _Get the ring first, Hill_ , he sternly reminded himself. After all he’d put the librarian through in the last week, she deserved a proposal as romantic and properly crafted as he could possibly manage. And he still had more to tell her about his past; next time, he wouldn’t let himself get so carried away with thoughts of lovemaking. Despite the ever-present annoyance of his baser inclinations urging him down unsavory paths, his intentions remained pure, and he refused to let his carnal appetites hasten him into proposing.

But it would be difficult to avoid – especially now that his appetites weren’t the only ones he had to rein in. Harold also needed to keep Marian from kissing him like that again until they were properly engaged – or better yet, married. And he would have to avoid such pitfalls both subtly and carefully; the librarian was making wonderful progress in her demonstrations of physical affection, and the last thing he wanted to do was stifle her burgeoning sensual awareness by outright refusing her overtures. If Marian was going to approach their wedding night with a sense of blissful anticipation and welcome his embrace without fear or distaste, he could not afford to inadvertently embarrass or dismay her in any way. So at present, Harold refrained from doing anything that might indicate his internal struggle; Marian looked blissfully unaware of just how easy it would have been to ask him a question he would not have been able to say no to – not even for love.

However, their passionate but proper courtship was indeed nearing completion in one way or another and, as Marian’s confidence in wordlessly expressing her affection increased, Harold could no longer exercise as tight a control of their embraces as he had previously. He needed to propose to Marian, and soon. Thankfully, their afternoon together had only reaffirmed his enthusiasm and determination to build a life with her, and the ring was bought and paid for and on its way to River City now. Contenting himself with the knowledge that it wouldn’t be much longer before Marian was wholly his in every sense of the word, Harold decided it was high time he stood up from the hollow log and offered to escort his lady love home.

But Marian once again beat him to taking the lead. Reaching out and pulling the music professor to his feet along with her, she warmly entreated, “Join us for dinner tonight, Harold. Mama’s cooking a ham and all the trimmings, and I’m sure you must be starving by now!”

Indeed, Harold was famished – for once, his mouth watered just as much at the idea of a hearty Iowan supper as it did at the notion of a pre-conjugal romp in the cornfield with Marian. So he cheerfully accepted the librarian’s invitation – and then, as the two of them were walking back to West Elm, his sense of discretion finally caught up with him and chided that perhaps it wasn’t the best of ideas to show his face at the Paroo household until he surveyed the lay of the land first. Although Harold knew without asking that Marian wasn’t likely to have told her mother all the particulars, the perceptive matron had to be aware they’d been estranged. It was too late to back down now, but perhaps he could at least prepare himself without giving too much offense.

The music professor turned to his beloved with a sheepish grin. “So, Miss Marian… should I, ah, expect the usual warm welcome?” he asked with an air of studied nonchalance.

Marian gave him a kind but knowing smile. “Darling, you’re the reason Mama’s cooking a ham for dinner. She was so happy to see you standing with me on our porch last night that before I left to meet you this afternoon, she made me promise I wouldn’t come home without you.”

Harold’s heart warmed at that, and the last of his lingering apprehensions disappeared. Now there was nothing to keep his stomach from realizing just how scarce sustenance had been in the last twenty-four hours, and his belly both loudly and rudely complained about this lack all the way to the Paroo porch. Never had Harold been so grateful that his librarian was a lady from the ground up – while her eyes briefly sparkled with amusement, her lips didn’t so much as twitch at the cacophony of rumbling issuing forth from the vicinity of his capricious stomach.

Likewise, Harold pretended nothing was amiss. This mutual feint proved quite helpful indeed, enabling the couple to nod with cordial ease to the friends and acquaintances they passed – most of whom regarded the sight of the music professor and librarian walking arm in arm together with avid and ill-disguised curiosity. Thoroughly amused by these reactions, Harold reflected that as conspicuous as his absence from the librarian’s side had been, the gossipy hens would never get a single thing out of either of them about what transpired to cause their estrangement. Harold had easily diverted any inquiries with his charm and silver tongue, and he imagined Marian was too iron-willed and formidable for anyone to dare pry too much into her affairs. And so the precise nature of the music professor and the librarian’s relationship remained a maddening enigma to the River City-ziens. Good, he preferred it that way… for the time being, at least. The strain of all this subterfuge was finally getting to Harold; it would be a joy and a relief when he could publicly declare his intentions toward Marian and they could finally present themselves to the world as fiancés.

XXX

Although the promise of a ham dinner with all the trimmings gave the music professor a pretty helpful hint as to what kind of welcome he could expect at the Paroo homestead, Harold still couldn’t help being downright shocked at how thrilled Mrs. Paroo was to see him. The moment he and Marian walked in the front door, the matron bustled out of the kitchen and caught him in a warm hug. Receiving such maternal affection from Marian’s mother was nothing new to Harold, but when she bestowed a hearty kiss on his cheek for good measure, that infernal lump came back into the former conman’s throat.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to speak. As he breathed in the heavenly aroma of baked ham, roasted potatoes, buttered corn and warm biscuits fresh from the oven, Harold’s stomach gave its loudest growl yet. So even before he could begin to gather his wits enough to respond with the appropriate pleasantry, Harold found himself being ushered by both Marian and Mrs. Paroo into the dining room. Winthrop was already seated at the table and, though he beamed to see his beloved music professor, greeted him with the words:

“It’s about time you and sister got back from the footbridge – we can finally eat!”

“Winthrop!” scolded both Marian and Mrs. Paroo, appalled.

But the boy’s facetious reprimand was just what Harold needed to recover himself – he was embarrassed enough to have Mrs. Paroo cooing over him like he was the prodigal son come home, and if Winthrop had joined in with her, he’d never have been able to maintain his composure. “It’s all right,” he reassured the ladies with a chuckle. Harold even had the spirit to wink at Marian, who was sporting a charming blush to go with her indignant expression, before he turned to Winthrop and said contritely, “Sorry to hold up dinner, son – I hadn’t realized I was going to have the pleasure of eating with you folks until a short while ago.”

After shooting her daughter a sly, delighted glance – Marian’s blush deepened at this – Mrs. Paroo glared at her son. Winthrop, who was now hungrily eying the bowl of potatoes, did not notice this interplay between the adults. Clearly taking the music professor’s apology as tacit approval to dig into the sumptuous spread before him, the boy was reaching out to serve himself. But when his mother pointedly cleared her throat, Winthrop remembered his manners and, picking up the bowl, sheepishly offered, “Care for some potatoes, Professor?”

“Thank you, Winthrop, but not at the moment,” Harold said graciously. Knowing that vegetables were the boy’s least favorite part of a meal, he suggested, “Why don’t you pass me the corn, instead?”

Now that the initial formalities were gotten out of the way, everyone helped themselves to dinner. They were all famished and thus ate in silence, the only sound being the clink of silverware against plates. Harold noticed that Mrs. Paroo had laid out her fanciest china for the occasion, and was in imminent danger of growing maudlin again until Winthrop, who’d wolfed down his entire helping of potatoes already, opened the conversation by asking a band-related question. As Harold responded to this inquiry, he thanked his lucky stars that the ruse of maintaining his usual cheerful façade had at least worked on River City’s youth. While the music professor had caught Winthrop giving him one or two thoughtful looks during rehearsal last week, the boy clearly hadn’t worried as much as his mother had about the state of the music professor and librarian’s relationship.

But still, Harold felt he owed it to Winthrop to atone for his absence, even if the boy remained largely unaware of just what had transpired. So for the rest of the evening, Harold was as charming and wonderful as he could be – to both Winthrop and Mrs. Paroo. And for his future mother-in-law’s benefit, the music professor was a bit more demonstrative than usual in his affections toward Marian. Whereas he would normally limit their physical interactions to brushing her fingers with his as they passed each other dishes and surreptitiously resting his hand on the small of her back when they sat on the parlor sofa, tonight he allowed his hand to rest openly on hers at the dining-room table and, when they migrated to the parlor after eating, he quietly but conspicuously wrapped his arm around the librarian’s waist. Though this last display might have stretched the bounds of propriety a little too far, neither Marian nor her mother protested his actions.

Now that he’d had the benefit of a nourishing meal, Harold was once again at the top of his game. By the time Winthrop’s bedtime rolled around, there wasn’t a doubt in anyone’s mind that when it came to the courtship of the music professor and the librarian, God was in heaven and all was right with the world. Harold was just as convinced of this notion as anyone else; no longer stymied by his own conscience, he looked forward to the future with nothing but avid anticipation.

Yet the two of them weren’t completely out of the woods yet; there was still the need to exercise caution and restraint in both word and deed, especially when they were alone together. So when Mrs. Paroo left them sitting on the parlor sofa while she brought Winthrop upstairs to bed, Harold’s guard immediately went up – only for it to tumble down like the Wall of Jericho when Marian reached out and pulled him into a warm hug. Wrapping his arms around her waist, the music professor buried his head in the crook of her shoulder and gave himself up to reveling in their embrace. He’d missed feeling the warmth of her body against his; he’d missed breathing in her sweet scent; he’d missed making her heart beat faster against his chest as he caressed her back in long, languid strokes. And as dangerously exposed as it left his own heart, Harold missed feeling something deeper for someone than detached amusement or casual regard. He _needed_ Marian, and the fact he’d nearly lost her through his own folly caused that awful ache he’d been nursing all last week to flare up again, making him hold her even tighter.

It wasn’t like Harold to shudder at a near-miss like this – especially given that in the end, he had successfully won back his fair maiden’s hand. But then again, it wasn’t like him to pursue an honorable courtship and a legitimate business venture, either. It was a whole lot easier to float through a precarious life with a devil-may-care attitude when one had nothing to love and little to lose; risking incarceration and perhaps even bodily harm for fraudulent material gain was a whole lot easier than getting emotionally involved and therefore opening oneself up to the inevitability of loss. Before he came to River City, Harold would have said it was far better never to have loved at all, than to have loved and lost – even though he’d done the latter, and more than once. As tough as it was for him to admit, he’d been born with a tender heart and, even after his saintly mother passed away and a large measure of his conscience died along with her, Harold couldn’t help recalling that he did indeed possess a softer side every time he’d risked his neck to secure the safety of his partner in crime. Which is why part of him was relieved when Marcellus finally left – he could fancy himself heartless without interruption.

While he’d gloried in his isolated and nomadic life at the time, it wasn’t an existence Harold cared to return to – especially when he viewed it from the comfortable and cozy vantage point of Marian’s embrace. Add to that Winthrop’s affectionate esteem, Mrs. Paroo’s maternal fondness, Marcellus Washburn’s brotherly loyalty, and the River City-ziens’ admiring regard, and the music professor’s heart was full to overflowing with the finer feelings he’d disdained for so many years. And if Harold couldn’t abandon Marian even when his physical well-being was threatened, he certainly couldn’t let her go now. He’d slay any dragon to be with her – even if the beast happened to be a chimera entirely of his own making.

But for now, it was time to stop all this excessive ruminating and do something he should have done the moment he’d gotten Marian alone that afternoon – something that would help them both fully close the books on their little misadventure in the emporium. Because for all the librarian’s affectionate smiles and warm hugs, there was still a tinge of anxiety in her eyes when she looked at him, as if she feared their reconciliation was a dream from which she would eventually have to wake.

So without further ado, Harold lifted his head from Marian’s shoulder and bathed her face with slow, sweet kisses until she was regarding him with the expression of dreamy delight he so loved to see. And then, once he was sure she’d completely relaxed in his arms, he leaned in and planted a gentle kiss right on the spot he’d defiled.

Although Marian was wearing a high-collared gown, she shivered as if his lips were touching bare skin and tensed slightly in his embrace. Harold’s head snapped up to meet Marian’s gaze, and he was alarmed to see that not only was her smile a mere shadow of its former brilliance, her eyes were now glistening with tears. His attempt to reconcile physically with the librarian had completely, spectacularly backfired – he should have listened to his better judgment, and refrained.

“Forgive me, Marian,” the beleaguered music professor said in a rueful voice as he ended their embrace entirely. “I’ve been wanting to do that all week, and temptation finally got the better of me.”

But Marian was not at all offended. “Harold, I’ve been waiting for you to do that all afternoon,” she confessed in a shaky but grateful voice, her cheeks crimsoning noticeably even in the dim light. “I was hoping you would, because I’ve dreamed of you kissing me just like that almost every night since we’ve been apart… ”

Harold reached out and pulled Marian back to him. When his thumb gently but insistently tugged her collar lower, she tilted her head in silent invitation; the ensuing interval of passion between the two of them was a hazy blur of instinct and need as his lips found her bare neck and pressed kiss after kiss against it. As the music professor tenderly and ardently demonstrated his remorse for what he’d done, Marian wrapped her arms around him and held him close.

Marveling at the librarian’s trust in him after everything that had happened, Harold inwardly promised himself that this would be the last time his mouth touched her neck until she was his fiancée – or perhaps just to be extra safe, his wife. His sharp ears caught the sound of a door closing upstairs and, seizing the little time they had left, Harold kissed his way softly upward along the side of Marian’s neck until he was resting cheek to cheek with her. As Mrs. Paroo descended the stairs – loudly clearing her throat while she did so – the music professor reached up and cupped his beloved’s other cheek and, after giving the librarian one final kiss just below her ear before smoothing her collar back into place, retreated to a more respectable distance. As ever, his timing was perfect – they moved apart just as Marian’s mother entered the parlor.

For the rest of his visit, Harold did not so much as attempt to rest his hand on the small of Marian’s back as they engaged in pleasant conversation with her tolerant but eagle-eyed mother. He was content to simply enjoy being in the librarian’s presence, knowing that the ring was still on order – and knowing that he still had so much more to tell her about his past. Last week, Harold couldn’t quite muster up the fortitude to proceed with his proposal. Today, he felt he couldn’t get the ring fast enough. But he didn’t feel too impatient about this crucial piece of jewelry not being in hand just yet – having a diamond solitaire shipped all the way from Des Moines would give him just the time he needed to complete this final phase of their courtship. Only then would he be ready to stop hiding the scheme that had driven his every action since that warm July night when he held onto the librarian for as long as he could until Constable Locke and his posse came to take him away.

Feeling that Mrs. Paroo had given the two of them more than enough leeway for one evening, Harold did not pull Marian out to the front porch for a private farewell. When the music professor finally took his leave around ten thirty or so, he kissed Marian’s hand directly on the finger where his ring would someday rest. The ardent look the librarian gave him in return was well worth the goodnight kisses he was sacrificing to maintain propriety, and that look was what Harold thought of as he drifted off to sleep that night. Instead of sheep, he now counted down the days when his bed would no longer be so empty.


	4. Of Love and Need

At first, Marian could find nothing to say when her husband came to the end of his recollections. Even after everything that had happened between them during their past two-and-a-half years together, it was still rather staggering to witness the full depth of Harold’s internal struggle not to cross the bounds of propriety during their courtship. At the time of their reconciliation, she suspected she might have taken their kiss a little too far, but as Harold had indeed never let on how close she’d come to wearing away his resolve that afternoon, she did not give her own behavior as much careful examination as she probably ought to have.

Normally, this would have been cause for severe self-reproach, but Marian could not muster up the spirit for such castigation. It was neither the first nor the last time they’d wrestled with temptation, and in the end, they’d made it to the altar before consummating their union. She was far too practical to bemoan what was now water under the bridge, and now that she did possess knowledge gleaned from experience, she could only reflect just how taxing it must have been for Harold to wait for her.

Although they’d talked for more than an hour, the moon still shone brightly, illuminating the room with its bewitching light. As Marian looked at her husband, who was gazing steadily at her in return, she sorely regretted rebuffing his overtures tonight. Despite his penchant for impropriety, this was a man who’d willingly gone through the arduous process of confronting his own demons and rearranging his entire life so he could be with her. Would it really be such a dreadful sin if she were to show him the same courtesy and compromise her own standards of decorum every now and then?

During the course of their conversation, Harold had rolled back over to his side of the bed, though he continued to hold the librarian in his arms. “Marian, I want you,” he said baldly. “And I want this – but not if you’ll regret it tomorrow morning.”

Marian caught him in a passionate kiss and, without further delay, started undoing the buttons of his nightshirt. Once she had worked the front of Harold’s shirt open, she ran her palms lightly over his bare chest, smiling when he shivered and moaned and tightened his arms around her. This was something the librarian had often done during the earliest days of their marriage. She quite enjoyed this little maneuver; in addition to the fact that it drove Harold wild, it allowed her to communicate her desire for his amorous attentions without feeling too forward. These days, she was far more direct, whispering her assent into her husband’s ear when he made his advances. But tonight, in her old girlhood room, such maidenly coyness seemed fitting.

Not that Marian was quite as timid as a new bride; deepening their kiss even more, she unfastened her husband’s pajama bottoms with unabashed haste and tugged them down. But as eagerly as Harold helped her by wriggling, eel-like, until he was free of this encumbrance, he didn’t attempt to take the lead in their lovemaking – not even when she began to stroke and tease him in the exact same manner he’d tormented her earlier.

But he didn’t allow her to tantalize him for long; putting his hand over hers, he broke their kiss and looked her in the eye.

“ _Say_ it, Marian,” he growled, his voice an eloquent mixture of yearning and need.

“I want you – I want this – I’ve wanted this for ages,” she confessed, letting her reticence fall away entirely.

Now it was the librarian who surrendered completely and utterly to their embrace; Harold rolled her beneath him, only pausing to tug her nightgown out of the way before his lips crashed down on hers and he entered her at last. Their lovemaking was tender, passionate and remarkably quiet as they muffled their gasps in the crooks of each other’s necks. Although husband and wife had long ago gotten used to making love in a house containing sleeping children, this was the first time they’d tried their utmost to remain absolutely silent. For all the looking after the girls required when they were awake, Penny and Elly were heavy sleepers, so Harold and Marian didn’t often have to stifle the ardor of their moans once their daughters settled down for the night.

At first, Marian was surprised at how easy it was to remain so quiet, despite the pleasure Harold was giving her. It was almost _too_ easy – but then she smiled as she realized the probable reason for this phenomenon. Of course her husband would know how to make love to a woman in such a way that would delight her but not elicit cries that were too unrestrained in less-than-private circumstances.

But what Marian hadn’t expected was just how bold she had become in her own lovemaking, even when she was following her husband’s lead. Her hands avidly roamed the planes of Harold’s body almost of their own volition, grabbing and grasping and pulling him to her even as her hips rose to meet his intent thrusts. As a result of this encouragement, the music professor’s pace lost its restraint, as did his breathing. Soon he was groaning nearly as loudly as he did at home – she had to stop inflaming him so, lest they wake someone in the house.

However, Marian’s hands would have none of it; they found their way to Harold’s backside and there they remained, driving him deeper into her until the steadily building wave of her desire crested and burst, and she pressed her head against her husband’s chest to muffle her ecstasy. Shortly after Marian achieved her release, Harold buried his face into the pillow and let out a long, strangled howl as he shuddered and gave one final thrust before falling still.

Waves of pleasure still reverberating throughout her body, Marian continued to pant furiously – too furiously. Harold, whose breathing was also ragged, raised his head to look at her. Their eyes met and Marian gazed at him with pleading desire; she did not want their embrace to be over just yet. With an understanding smile, Harold closed the distance between them and gave her soft, sweet kisses until her pulse stopped racing and her body calmed once more.

At least, that was what should have happened. Instead, their kisses gradually grew longer and deeper, until Marian felt her husband stir within her again.

The librarian let out a gasping laugh. “We are never going to get any sleep, at this rate!”

“Doesn’t matter – we can sleep tomorrow,” Harold promised, his voice just as breathless as hers.

The matter settled, the music professor deftly maneuvered her into a new position, rolling them over until Marian was perched astride him. Not only did the librarian welcome this change, she took a great deal of delight in having Harold watch her with entranced eyes as they resumed their frenzied lovemaking. Under the moonlight’s spellbinding influence, even she could admit without shame that she must have been an awfully fetching sight to behold, with her breasts tumbling out of her unfastened nightgown and her tousled blonde locks spilling down her shoulders and back.

Perhaps her display was too much, even for Harold’s sensibilities; shortly after they began, he grasped her by the hips and, once he’d arrested their writhing, scooted the two of them up the bed until he was sitting in an upright position against the headboard. At first, Marian dazedly wondered what her music professor was up to – and then he dipped his head right into her décolletage. With a smile, she raked her hands through her husband’s hair and let him take the reins of their lovemaking once more. He’d enjoyed exploring that particular area on their honeymoon and in the earliest days of their marriage, but ever since she’d stopped nursing the twins, he’d taken an even greater interest in her breasts. Perhaps it was a matter of absence making his heart grow fonder – in the time between her pregnancy and the girls’ weaning, the area had often been too delicate for her to bear such amorous attentions.

But Marian couldn’t think too deeply on the matter for long. Harold’s mouth was warm, wet and eager against her bare skin, and the clever movements of his tongue made her arch against him until they were once again rocking back and forth in each other’s arms. Soon Marian teetered on the brink of ecstasy once more, and she whimpered and bit her lip, trying as best she could to stifle her increasing passion. Obligingly, Harold covered her mouth with his, and she moaned into his kiss. As she reveled in her euphoria, he slowed their pace to a more languid tempo until her breathing steadied – only to escalate the fervor of his thrusts when his own release came upon him, and he buried his head in her breasts to let out a long, satisfied groan.

Now that they both had finished, exhaustion descended upon Marian. As she started to collapse against her husband, gasping and sated, Harold caught her in his arms and guided her back down with him to the warmth of the blankets. Showering her lips with more soft, sweet kisses, he lovingly refastened the front of her nightgown. Somehow, she mustered up the energy to button up his shirt in return. But when Harold groggily went in search of his pajama bottoms – which were now wedged deep beneath the covers – she could only lie there and giggle as he attempted to retrieve his pants without rumpling the bedclothes hopelessly beyond repair.

Fortunately, Harold managed to succeed in his quest without causing too much disorder. Once he and the sheets were both returned to their former presentable state, he reclaimed his place next to the librarian and pulled her into his arms. “Maybe I should take a leaf out of your book and not wear pants to bed,” he said with a lascivious chuckle.

Marian smiled slyly at her husband – she had stopped wearing drawers beneath her nightgown shortly after they’d married. “It does save a lot of time and energy.”

Beneath the blankets, Harold’s left hand found hers, and he raised it to his lips to kiss her wedding ring. “My dear little librarian,” he said fondly, even as he stifled a yawn, “this has been one of the best nights of my life.”

“Mine, too,” Marian happily agreed, nestling even deeper into the music professor’s embrace as her eyelids fluttered shut.

As if in recompense for the flurry of heated movement they had just engaged in for the better part of the previous hour, husband and wife didn’t even get their final goodnight kiss in before a heavy sleep claimed them both.

XXX

Around ten thirty the next morning, the door to the guest quarters creaked open, and Mrs. Paroo poked her head in the room. Winthrop had been quite disappointed that his sister and brother-in-law weren’t present when he bounded downstairs to take his place at the breakfast table. But she had forbidden her son to disturb them, promising him they were sure to be up and about when he got home from school that afternoon. Once she’d finally managed to get a dawdling Winthrop out the door, the matron had turned her attention to Penny and Elly’s needs – the girls were now fed, dressed and playing happily together in their crib in the parlor.

Mrs. Paroo would have taken the liberty of opening the drapes in the guest quarters, as it was getting rather late in the morning to be lying abed, but to her surprise the curtains were not closed. Yet despite the sunlight pouring into the room, both her daughter and son-in-law slumbered soundly. And even though the bed was quite large, they were wrapped tightly together as two people could be beneath a cozy cocoon of blankets; the besotted librarian and music professor were just as closely entwined as they’d been that day last fall when she’d caught them asleep on Marian’s old twin bed.

Mrs. Paroo smiled; the sight did not surprise her in the least. After years of watching Marian pine for a white knight even as she went about in a stubborn, lonely fog, it warmed her heart to see her daughter nestled so contentedly in the arms of the man who loved her just as fiercely and unreservedly as she loved him in return. With Marian so well taken care of, Mrs. Paroo felt she could now go with greater ease when the Lord decided to call her home… although, of course, she wouldn’t mind sticking around a little while longer, especially if Providence decided to bless her daughter and son-in-law with additional children.

With that thought in mind, the matron exited the tower and closed the door quietly but firmly behind her, leaving husband and wife to their repose and privacy.


End file.
